N i g h t s i n W h i t e S a t i n
by belladonnanroses
Summary: Buffy finds herself discontent with life & looks for help in the arms of Spike. After Season 4. Lyrics from 'Deep Purple', K's Choice, Sarah McLachlan, Nickelback, Louis Armstrong, AFI
1. Three Pace Distance to the Window

Three Pace Distance to the Window   
  
'When the Deep Purple falls,   
  
Over sleepy garden walls,   
  
And the stars begin to flicker in the sky,   
  
Thru the mist of a memory   
  
You wander back to me,   
  
Breathing my name with a sigh.'   
  
"It's all about the choices we make. "   
  
The delicate flare of a cigarette lighter illuminates only half of his face as they sit in the dark, dinky motel room. Red, fluorescent words advertising a good time glow across the street. The nicotine steadies his hands and clears his mind and after a while he can turn his yellow gaze back to the trembling man on the rumpled bedspread.   
  
"They shape us, create us, lead us to the defining moments of our lives. They enable us to live for the better or the worse, and -- sometimes -- they lead us to our untimely and bloody demise. But I expect that an educated fellow like yourself would already know that, wouldn't you? Yea, Art, I think you knew that. What I don't think you knew, what you didn't factor out as a possible solution to your grand scheme, is that in the end, nothing would go back to the way it was, that you'd lose out and that we'd be here now."   
  
He stands, takes the three pace distance to the window slowly and stares outside at the blinking advertisement. The rain pounds against the thin window and he can feel the icy chill when he places his hands on the cheap glass. After a long moment he turns around and marches over to the bed. With his free hand he lifts the man's gagged head by the hair and stares into the glassy eyes.   
  
"Do you understand what I'm getting at? None of us would be here now if it wasn't for our decisions and the decisions of others. It was you who brought you here today, and nobody else -- well, nobody else who hasn't already been taken care of, and they no longer matter -- all that matters now Art, is me and you. Now, I'll tell you what I'm gonna do now, Art, just to be fair. I'm gonna tell you a little story, the story of how you, and I, and her -- how we all came to be where and what we are today."   
  
'In the still of the night,   
  
Once again I hold you tight,   
  
Tho' you're gone, your love lives on   
  
When moonlight beams.'   
  
With undue ceremony he plops the man's head back down on the mattress and stubs his cigarette out in the overflowing ash tray. He kneels by the bed, his lithe form silhouetted against the dark of the room. One pale hand reaches into the pocket of his black jeans and pulls out a worn photograph that has faded to a pale yellow sepia over the years. Despite it's condition, the girl in the picture is clearly visible, her slightly bent nose, smiling mouth, wide hazel eyes as familiar to the pale being who gazes at it as his own name. A lock of dirty blonde hair is twisted around her finger and she laughs, the other arm lies across her stomach.   
  
It's a peaceful picture, taken on a peaceful day that forces his throat to close as he is assaulted by the memory of her laughter, her scent, her touch. Her surprise when the camera clicked and the picture was taken are imprinted forever on the delicate piece of glossy paper in his hand.   
  
It wasn't the only picture he'd taken of her, not by far. There were times when the whole floor of their room was covered in Polaroid's after their love-making. She would hold him in her arms afterwards, sweat mingling on their skin, hands touching the most intimate parts of each other's bodies, and she would whisper in his ear, "They say that when you take a photograph of someone, you steal a piece of their soul. What have you done with all the pieces of mine, lover? It's not all you've taken from me."   
  
He would kiss her then and she would melt against him, liquid in his hands, against his skin, as they made love again and again in the sea of photographs. The sea of her soul.   
  
But all that was gone now and he was plunged painfully back into the present by the man on the bed's struggles. He growled and shook the man carelessly to quiet him down. When the man ceased his flopping and lay back on the bed, his mouth open in a parody of a fish gasping for breath, the vampire leaned back on his arms, the thin carpet hard against his elbows.   
  
He lit another cigarette, took one last look at the photograph and began, "The spell changed how she was inside."   
  
'And as long as my heart will beat   
  
Lover, we'll always meet   
  
Here in my Deep Purple dreams.' 


	2. Inert Resistance

'There's a chair in my head   
  
On which I used to sit,   
  
Took a pencil and I wrote   
  
The following on it -- '   
  
It's the sweetest tragedy, the sacrifice of youth. Whether by one's own hand, the heartless intent of another or just the cruel twists of fate, it always fades and vanishes. Changing as the seasons do, from the airy happiness of spring to the sweltering beauty of summer to the dimmed and dying richness of autumn and finally the barren and long winter. Time, like any cruel master, doesn't turn backwards.   
  
Summer hit Sunnydale with a ferocious and mindless intensity, the sun shining down upon the small town oppressively. Even when it finally disappeared from the sky there was no reprieve from the heat; the silvery moon gazing down at her children without compassion as they wilted.   
  
Buffy Summers pressed herself tighter against the hard body of Riley Finn, his large hands easily encircling her small frame. They swayed together in the middle of packed dance floor of the Bronze, each lost in their own thoughts as the music moved through their bodies. Riley leaned forward and placed a light kiss on Buffy's mouth which she returned absently, unaware of the small frown that graced his lips at her lack of a response. Ever since he had returned from his short visit to Iowa she'd been even more distant and uncommunicative than ever, rarely initiating or responding to their embraces. It wasn't that she'd pushed him away or ignored him, she'd become passive. Letting him have his way easily with no enthusiasm or response on her part that wasn't mechanical.   
  
At least everything was still going good in bed, Riley mused, she might remain passive beneath him, but he was sure her increasingly loud screams and moans were indicators of her pleasure with him. If she was less ardent than before, Riley mentally shrugged, it could probably be attributed to the heat.   
  
Having once again rationalized everything to himself, he cupped the chin of his girlfriend causing a faint smile to emit from her lips. He bent down again and kissed her softly, before panting in her ear, "Want to get out of here?"   
  
She nodded, letting Riley lead her out of the nightclub and into his apartment.   
  
* * *   
  
'Now there's a key   
  
Where my wonderful mouth used to be.'   
  
Buffy stared back at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and paused in her ablutions. Water dripped from her face and neck down to the vale between her breasts, across her bare belly to the spot between her legs, before caressing her thin thighs and calves. She shivered and grabbed one of the worn dark green towels, drying herself off quickly. She slid quietly into her clothes and secured her honey-blonde hair behind her head in a loose ponytail.   
  
Turning off the bathroom light she tiptoed out into the one room apartment, her eyes furtively running over the sleeping body of her boyfriend. Pushing down the pang of guilt that arose lately every time she thought of him, she slid on her shoes, grabbed her keys and quietly left the apartment.   
  
The warm night air caressed her skin and she shivered despite the heat. The image of Riley lying alone in his bed haunted her mind despite her attempts to focus on something, anything, else. The guilt came back as she realized that he would be expecting her to be there in the morning. She swore lightly under her breath, debating whether or not to return to the apartment and his fevered clumsy embraces when the sight of a stumbling figure entering the grave yard caught her eye, providing the distraction she'd been praying for.   
  
Spike, she thought as she fingered the stake in the waistband of her jeans, he's as good a distraction as any, and he's bound to take my mind off of Riley.   
  
She took off for the grave yard in a light run, breathing in the hot air as she went, a few droplets of sweat forming on her skin. She ignored it, pushing farther into the graveyard, not noticing the black lump on the ground until she tripped over it.   
  
She let out a small groan as she cradled her bruised arm and shot an evil glare at the black lump, which she had now identified as Spike -- a very drunk Spike. She poked him with her foot and received no response from him. She poked him again more forcefully and was greeted with a drunken moan. Spike shifted on his side and, peering at her from beneath his duster croaked out, "Bloody hell, Slayer. Can't you let a man sleep off his hangover in peace?"   
  
Buffy snorted, "You're not a man, Spike, and, in case you haven't noticed, you've chosen the middle of the graveyard as your bed. Not the best spot for somebody with your sun allergies."   
  
"I'm touched that you care, pet."   
  
"Don't get any ideas in your head, blood breath," Buffy rose to her feet and arms akimbo stared down at the inert form of Spike, "I had just set my mind on doing you in personally."   
  
Spike rolled onto his back, his arms spread out and stared up at her challengingly, "What's stopping you from doing it now, Summers?"   
  
Buffy hesitated, thinking of the stake in her jeans. It would only take a few moments, she mused, Spike was drunk, and chipped, and in no state to fight her. Five minutes tops and he'd be gone from her life forever. She frowned, waiting for the usual feeling of glee to appear, her frown deepening when it didn't. Instead an unfamiliar sense of loss worked it's way in at the thought and she quickly pushed it away into the back corners of her mind where she banished all the things she didn't want to confront, like Riley. At the renewed thoughts of him she let out a sigh and, determined to chase away her relationship problems once more, reached down and gripped one of Spike's arms.   
  
She gave the limb a yank as she endeavored to pull him into a standing position, "I can't kill an enemy as pathetic as this." She gave another tug and was met with his inert resistance, she growled at him, "A little help here?"   
  
Spike glared at her but eased himself off the ground until he stood, or rather swayed, before the Slayer, "I'm all yours, love."   
  
Buffy made a sound of disgust as she took in his sorry state. A large brown stain marred his white cotton shirt. His jeans were rumpled as was his normally helmet flat hair. His duster hung loosely around his shoulders and his eyes, though still annoyingly penetrating, were glassy with alcohol. She reached a hand out to still his swaying form and, despite herself, felt a prick of amusement. A small smile flickered across her face as the ridiculousness of his drunken state penetrated her mind, "What am I going to do with you?"   
  
He shrugged, "Beats me, Summers. You'd probably die of uptightness without me."   
  
She scowled at him, "I am not uptight."   
  
He rolled his eyes sarcastically, "Whatever, Summers."   
  
She pouted at him, her mind shooting back to her stake, "I am not."   
  
He smirked at her, "Immature too."   
  
She glared at him before turning around and starting towards the gate of the cemetery. Behind her she could hear Spike stumbling around as he sought to follow her. He finally reached her side and, grabbing her arm to steady himself said, "Cheer up, Summers, someone has to knock you off your pedestal. It's only healthy."   
  
She glared at him, "And who knocks you off yours?"   
  
He smirked again, "You."   
  
She gave a snort of disgust and continued down the street toward her house, intent on seeking the comfort of her bed. Spike continued to follow her, not stopping even when she paused at her front door, fumbling with the lock, "Go home, Spike."   
  
"Don't got one, love."   
  
She whirled angrily to face him, "Go back to Giles' then!"   
  
He shrugged annoyingly, sending her a sexy smirk, "Can't, love. He's got company. Told me specifically to make my self scarce."   
  
Buffy waved away his excuse, "They must have left hours ago."   
  
Spike shook his head, instantly regretting the action when his world spun out of control wildly, "Don't think so, love. She was his lady friend."   
  
Buffy paused in her efforts, "Ew." She turned back to the lock, finally forcing the door open and stepping into her house. Spike followed her inside, closing the door quietly behind him, up the stairs and into her room.   
  
"Never been in a Slayer's room before," he mused out loud, causing Buffy to glare at him once more, "It's more … girl-y than I would've expected."   
  
"Well," she snarked, "In case you haven't noticed, I happen to be a girl."   
  
Spike nodded, "That's right." He slipped out of his duster and tossed it across her bed before moving forward and collapsing on the mattress. His eyes closed blissfully as unconsciousness beckoned, only to be rudely interrupted by the Slayer as she shook him violently.   
  
"Oh, no you don't, buddy," she pushed at him, "You are so not sleeping here."   
  
He cracked one eye at her and scooted over, "There's room enough for the two of us."   
  
She shook her head violently, "I am so not sleeping in the same bed as you."   
  
He gave her a rakish grin and eyed her appreciatively from head to toe, "Don't be shy, love. I won't bite."   
  
"Spike!"   
  
He shrugged, pulled back the covers and settled beneath them, turning his back to her, "'Night Slayer."   
  
Buffy clenched her fists in anger until the feeling dissipated. Whatever, she thought wearily, looks like I will be going back to Riley's after all. She started towards her bedroom door but the memory of Riley's earlier amorous attentions made her wince and stop in her tracks; the sound of her overly loud and enthusiastic screams echoing in her ears. The fact that he actually considered her attempts valid spoke volumes, and the thought of going back for what had become another fifteen minutes of discomfort turned her stomach. Silently, she turned around and considered the bleached-blonde vampire asleep in her bed.   
  
What would it matter, she thought carefully, it's not as if anything would happen. No one would know, her mom was out of town and Riley … she frowned not letting her mind wander farther down that path. She slipped out of her shoes, the rest of her clothes following as she pulled as light sleeping shirt and boxers on. She lay on the bed carefully, determined not to disturb her bedmate and turned to face away from him. Her weariness gradually easing her to sleep. 


	3. Betraying Senses

'Dig it up and throw it at me,   
  
Dig it up and throw it at me.'   
  
The grey dawn light broke out through the lingering black night sky, chasing away the few remaining stars. Sunnydale lay quiet, the and of sleep still hovering delicately over it's citizens. Even now, with the sun just beginning to peep over the flat disk of the earth, the morning coolness was beginning to burn away into the balmy heat of the summer days.   
  
Buffy's eyes fluttered open at the shifting of the mattress as Spike rose, closed the thick curtains over the window and returned to the bed. Ignoring the last vestiges of drowsiness that clung to her, threatening to lull her back to sleep, she rolled onto her other side, only to find Spike staring back at her, "Morning, love."   
  
Buffy let out a small groan and turned away from him, "And I thought waking up to Parker was scary." Spike frowned at her as she rolled out of bed and began stretching. She turned back towards him and frowned down at him as he continued to loll about in her bed, "Are you going to stay there all day?"   
  
He wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, "You offering to keep me company?"   
  
Buffy scowled down at him, "You're a pig, Spike."   
  
He shrugged and sat up, "I'm actually rather surprised that you stayed, love. I'd expected you to run off to Soldier Boy."   
  
Buffy blushed at the reminder of her desertion last night, "What do you know about it?"   
  
The blonde vampire rose from the bed, his cerulean eyes meeting hers. For a second, Buffy felt the bottom of her stomach drop out as she lost herself in their depth. Shaking her head she broke the gaze and turned away from Spike to rummage through her bureau. "I know quite a lot about it, Slayer, being Love's bitch and all."   
  
Willfully ignoring him, Buffy pulled out a t-shirt before marching over to the closet and selecting a pair of jeans. When she turned back to Spike she waved the clothes before his face, "Hello? Getting dressed here."   
  
He smirked at her, "Looks like I hit a nerve. Trouble in paradise, Slayer?"   
  
Her face tightened at his taunt, "Get out, Spike."   
  
Ignoring her ominous look he took a step toward her, his smirk still firmly plastered in place, "What's the matter, Slayer? Soldier Boy unable to keep up with you in bed?" Buffy moved forward, attempting to shoulder past him, only to find Spike's hands gripping her forearms as he pulled her against him, "Not enough monster in the man perhaps?" His voice dropped to a seductive note as he leaned in closer, his cool mouth brushing against the heated skin of her ear, "Doesn't he make you scream?"   
  
Buffy felt herself shiver involuntarily at the feel of Spike's mouth against the tender flesh of her ear. He tightened against her, his mouth brushing across her ear again. Fighting to control her betraying senses she placed her hands against his chest and, Summoning up all the righteous fury possible, she sent him sprawling backwards into her door, "Oh, what, and you could Spike?"   
  
His eyes narrowed at her taunt, "I could do things to you that you've never even dreamed of."   
  
Ignoring the quickening of her heart that his promise inspired she let out a derisive laugh, "Whatever, Spike. You'll have to excuse me if I don't believe you, if you're so good then why'd Drusilla leave you so quickly?"   
  
Spike let out a growl at the taunt and pushed himself away from the door, "If you're so much to bloody brag about then why'd Angelus and Parker decide you weren't worth a second go?"   
  
Buffy stumbled back, her mouth forming into a surprised 'o' before her hazel eyes flashed. Her fist shot out only to be caught by Spike inches before connecting with his face. Unfazed, Buffy continued her attack, "Not a man, not a demon … What are you Spike?"   
  
He growled and, ignoring the pain in the back of his head, wrenched his arms from her and spun them around so that she was pressed back up against the door, his hands pinning her arms above her head. He pushed up against her and Buffy's eyes widened as she felt his unmistakable hardness press against her stomach, all thoughts of anger fleeing from her mind.   
  
He smirked at her, the scent of her arousal overwhelming him. He pushed closer, his mouth coming down to her neck, his blunt teeth biting at the skin, sending tremors up and down her body. He moved his mouth until it hovered a few inches apart from hers, her halting breath warm against his mouth. His eyes moved up from her mouth to her eyes and he drew in an unneeded breath a they met and held. The niggling feeling of wrongness that had loomed in his mind vanished at the sight of her swirling orbs. The tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her lips and he let out a silent groan as she shifted, rubbing the hard tips of her breasts against his chest.   
  
Slowly, tortuously, he lowered his mouth down to hers.   
  
Buffy's senses reeled at the contact, his cool skin evoking tremors of heat that spread throughout her body, setting her on fire. Her heat braded him, sinking into his body through the thin fabric of is cotton shirt as her breasts swelled tightly against him. One of his hands dropped from her wrist to caress the delicate column of her neck.   
  
His mouth prodded hers, his tongue silently begging for an invitation. Her mouth parted slightly as Spike's hand trailed from her neck to the soft curve of her breast and gently squeezed. Buffy pulled away at the sudden burst of sensation, reality dimming her eyes as she struggled against the feelings his touch evoked. With a wrenched moan she pushed him away from her, grabbed her clothes and fled from the room, leaving Spike to watch after her stunned. 


	4. An Extremely Talented Touch

'Where can I run to?   
  
Where can I hide?   
  
Who will I turn to?   
  
Now I'm in a virgin state of mind.'   
  
Buffy stretched on the sidewalk before her house, the heat seeping in through the huge clouds that formed overhead to spread over her skin. She sighed, checked her ponytail to ensure that her long golden hair was sufficiently encased, and then took off at a slow jog through the quiet neighborhood. As she ran she felt her muscles relaxing into the familiar mindless rhythm, the tension that had built up in them over the past week slowly dissipating.   
  
She savored the silence which was broken only by the mundane murmur from inside the houses, the occasional roar of an engine, the chirp of a bird; so different from the violent sounds that normally followed her. Her mind roamed as she moved, speeding ahead of her feet as it drifted aimlessly, eventually bringing her back, however reluctantly, to the object that had fixated her for the past week: Spike. Even now the imprint of his lips against hers refused to vanish, no matter how often or vigorously she washed her face. The sensation of his cool hand cupping her breast haunted her as well, leaving her with a hollowness in her stomach that she couldn't explain.   
  
After that awkward, altering, kiss she'd fled, locked herself in the bathroom, waited until she'd heard the tell tale sound of the front door opening and slamming shut. When she'd emerged she'd discovered that he'd taken one of the thick quilts from the linen closet, a sacrifice she felt she could live with if it had enabled him to leave. Except that he hadn't, not really.   
  
Buffy paused in her run, hands over her head, as she breathed in the hot summer air. Perspiration beaded on her forehead, her complexion flushed as she closed her eyes, calming her heart beat. His presence continued to make itself felt to her, every time she entered her house, her room, her bed, she saw him there. No matter that he'd been there for little more than twelve hours, it had been long enough for the house to absorb every inch of him. Enough for her to forget her disgust, her duty, and succumb to his touch.   
  
Although in her defense, she concluded, he did have an extremely talented touch.   
  
Buffy grimaced and began the trek back to her house, her mind still occupied by the Spike problem. She knew unequivocally that there was no one she could confide in, she was completely alone when it came to erasing Spike from her sensory memory. Not even her recent frantic attempts with Riley had proved successful. Instead, they'd had the complete opposite effect; each time she left his bed she came away increasingly unsatisfied, the question of how it might've been with Spike, if she'd have let it go that far, ensconced in her mind. The adjective mind-blowing had appeared in conjunction with it more that once.   
  
The red sun sat perched precariously on the horizon as it sank, the shadows extending from under the trees, the heat lessening only a fraction of an inch. By the time she'd reached her house dusk had effectively fallen, leaving the sky a myriad of bruised purples and blues, the first few stars winking against the sky. She made it to the door before she noticed the silent figure watching her from the shadows of the porch, his lit cigarette dangling precariously from his mouth. She froze, her hand on the knob, her hazel eyes wide with shock.   
  
He smirked, the gesture hiding the nervousness that sprung to life at the sight of her. Carelessly he tossed the cigarette to the ground and stamped it out, his cerulean eyes taking the opportunity to drink in the sight of her, flushed and dazed. He took a step forward, fought the urge to grab her in his arms and press her against him, to feel her heat engulf him again. "Slayer," his voice was rough as he addressed her, "We need to talk."   
  
She nodded once, dumbly, the shock of seeing him finally wearing off to be replaced by a giddiness that she couldn't explain. She turned the knob absently and stepped inside, gesturing for Spike to follow her. He did so wordlessly, moving aside so she could close the door.   
  
Silence engulfed them as they stood in the dim foyer, each eyeing the other warily, fighting their own internal wars against the instinct that rose in them, commanding them to seize, claim, know. He took a step forward, she followed suit. He swallowed hard, his voice choked, "What happened last time …."   
  
"Was a mistake," she finished, her hazel eyes drowning in his, her skin aching for his touch, "We were both angry."   
  
He nodded, "A simple mistake." Sighed, moved closer despite the warning that signaled in his brain. She didn't back up.   
  
"It's just been so long," they both said in unison.   
  
The words sunk in, awareness shining in both their eyes. Buffy raised one trembling hand and placed it on his chest, heard his sharp intake of breath at the heated contact, felt the coolness of his skin through the silk button down dress shirt and the thin cotton tee beneath it, "This is wrong."   
  
He nodded, his hands going to her waist, "More than that." Buffy's eyes fell closed as he touched her, yearning spearing through her as the cold palms shifted, the fingers tracing her muscles. One hand came up to cup her face, the coolness of his touch coaxing her heavy-lidded eyes to open. Without another word he pressed his mouth against hers.   
  
Buffy let out a startled gasp at the onslaught of sensation his mouth evoked. His long masculine fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer to him, the other hand encircling her thin waist. Even pressed as she was against him, breast to chest and hip to thigh, she felt the need to get closer. Her slender arms wound about his neck, tousling his hair, drawing him deeper into the kiss.   
  
The cool pressure of his tongue against her mouth startled her and she jumped, unprepared for the raspy tenor of his voice as he murmured against his mouth, "Let me in." She parted her lips, his tongue finding her own, claiming, caressing, possessing, imitating the joining of two bodies. Her head spun as she clung to him feverishly, giving herself up completely to his kiss.   
  
"That wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I mentioned talking," Spike panted when they finally pulled apart.   
  
Buffy nodded numbly, the ghost of a smile flirting around her lips, "You complaining?"   
  
He shook his head feverishly, "Bloody hell, Slayer. Of course not." The urge to take her back into her arms and claim her as his fought against his control. He swallowed, ignoring the pink dart of her tongue as it peeked out to moisten her thoroughly kissed lips. He deliberately ran his hands along the sides of her body before releasing her and taking a step back.   
  
Buffy sighed at the loss of contact, a small pout forming on her mouth. Settling herself on the edge of the stairs she glanced up at Spike, noting the hardness of his face, "I'm guessing you still want to talk."   
  
He nodded, fighting to keep his hormones out of control. Certain parts of his anatomy had very specific ideas of what they'd like to be doing with the willing Slayer, and the least of them was talking -- unless of course, it was dirty. Keeping his eyes firmly focused on hers he nodded, "This shouldn't be happening."   
  
Buffy nodded, fighting back the sudden prick of hurt that his words had caused. She was very much aware that despite the last two interludes there had not been any significant change in their situations; she was still a Slayer and he was still a vampire, albeit a chipped one. And, as always, there was Riley to consider. "You, vampire. Me, Slayer. And there's Riley," Buffy added, "He is my boyfriend."   
  
If it was possible Spike's face hardened even further, "Can't forget that can we."   
  
Buffy shrugged, "He's exactly what I need."   
  
Spike's jaw clenched and unclenched as jealousy began to wind it's way through his system. Forcing his voice to remain neutral he lifted one eyebrow, "And what exactly would that be?"   
  
Buffy settled back on the stairs, outwardly oblivious to Spike's tense frame, "He's reliable, safe, sweet, normal …" She paused for a second before continuing, "And human."   
  
Spike's hands fisted, "Sounds more like a puppy to me."   
  
Buffy frowned, "Riley's the one for me." Her mind flashed back to the recent debacle in his bedroom and she flushed guiltily, "Sure we have our problems but, in general, everything we need is already there."   
  
Spike snorted, "A soul?"   
  
Buffy nodded, "A soul. Also, I love him. He loves me."   
  
That was it, the tenuous grip Spike had on his volatile emotions flew. In two long strides he was at the edge of the stairs. He reached down and yanked Buffy up viscously by her arm, her mouth widened in surprise and anger but before she could speak his mouth was on hers, plundering and claiming. The hands on her body were rough and demanding, taking all she was willing to offer and then some. Buffy's senses swept into overdrive as he kneaded her taut breasts, her head tilted back as she gasped, Spike's cool lips latched onto her throat and sucked on the tender skin while he tormented one tight nipple. He pulled free suddenly, his hands holding her a few inches from him, Buffy's skin screaming at the loss.   
  
"Tell me," his voice was low and dangerous, "that he can make you feel like that."   
  
Buffy opened her mouth to prove him wrong and found that she couldn't. She stared up at him, her hazel eyes a mass of confusion, her inner voice thrown into even greater turmoil at the swirling blackness in Spike's orbs. He smirked at her, correctly reading her silence and, before Buffy had time to collect her wits, was gone. 


	5. The Right Thing

'Got a knife to disengage   
  
The voids that I can't bear   
  
To cut out words I've got written   
  
On my chair.'   
  
Despite the heat of the night, enhanced by the pulsing mass of bodies, Buffy found herself and her friends seated in the Bronze. Buffy sighed, her mind wandering away from the conversation and Riley's wandering hand, which had settled weightily on her knee. The music washed over her, and she closed her eyes, losing herself in the rhythm. A contented look crossed her face as she reopened her hazel eyes and took a small sip of her drink.   
  
She had been completely right in telling Spike how it stood today. Buffy inwardly frowned as Riley squeezed her knee before managing a small smile at him. She hadn't been lying when she said they had their problems and if her physical reaction, or lack thereof, was any indicator they weren't going to be easily swept aside.   
  
But is that really so bad, she mused, her mind flashing back to the last two men she had been involved with. She'd been driven to Angel by sweeping need, a desire to capture the emotion that he had so readily evoked in her young body, by some unfathomable promise. He hadn't delivered. Parker had been worse, her relationship with him stemming from her need to prove to herself that she was desirable enough to be wanted. Not just by anybody, but by someone normal, someone human ... Someone with a soul.   
  
And look how that turned out, she thought bitterly; the wounds were still painfully tender despite the passage of time. Based on her past experience she was more than positive that nothing based so completely on lust, especially passionate all-consuming lust, could be of the good. Spike was definitely about that type of lust. And those relationships, she reminded herself, always end in the bad for Buffy.   
  
Which explained why she was willing to accept Riley despite their lack of physical chemistry. He might not leave her breathless and starry eyed but he was dependable, solid, human. Everything she should want.   
  
While Spike -- intense, wicked, unpredictable, not to mention undead -- was everything she should avoid. No matter that his touch sent her reeling, no matter that his kisses promised unimaginable pleasure, no matter that, even now, surrounded by her friends and boyfriend, she couldn't put him out of her mind. He was bad for her, of that she was sure. She had done the right thing in throwing Riley, and his humanness, in Spike's face.   
  
Then why, her inner voice protested, all this doubt?   
  
* * *   
  
"Stupid bloody bint."   
  
Spike poured himself another shot of Tequila and downed it swiftly, ignoring the burn as it spread down through his throat. He poured another. And another.   
  
The cemetery was eerily quiet, the intense heat had driven most of the demons to their comparatively cooler domains below ground. Only the desperate, or insane, remained above ground, scorched by the unrelenting summer heat. Spike had made a small sacrifice to the heat, his beloved and omnipresent leather duster hung absently over the sarcophagus in the middle of his newly acquired crypt.   
  
Spike himself sat with his back against the cool stone of the sarcophagus, contemplating the shot glass in his hand. In one violent, frustrated gesture, he sent the small glass flying against the opposite wall, the shattering tinkle of the glass soothing his beleaguered nerves. A situation he fully credited the Slayer with causing.   
  
Spike growled under his breathe and took a long drink from the tequila bottle before leaning his head back against the stone and closing his eyes. Immediately a picture of the Slayer, flush with passion, materialized before him. His body hardened as he recalled the way he'd taken her earlier in the day, her responses betraying her own rising lust, a need that grew with each and every episode. His palms itched to touch her again, his body burned with the need to be buried fully within her, her heat engulfing him, his mouth drinking in her cries of pleasure.   
  
"This is bloody ridiculous," his eyes opened as he glared at the empty space before him, "She's the bloody Slayer for crissakes." His words rang empty through out the crypt, mocking him. He knew that what she was only added to his excitement. She was a challenge, his equal. He wanted her and the devil take all else.   
  
In his defense, it wasn't as if his attraction to her hadn't, in a sense, been predicted. Grimly, his mind turned back to his final meeting with Druisilla and her damning, mocking words. Her prophecy. He shook his head, chasing the memory from his mind. It didn't matter now, the only thing that did was the delectable Slayer and how he was going to get her into his arms.   
  
* * *   
  
Buffy paced her room restlessly, the quiet house settling around her. She'd been spared the ordeal of Riley's bed when his cell phone had gone off and he'd been summoned to an important and pertinent meeting. A thread of uneasiness made it's way through her but she shook it off. Whatever Riley was about she knew he wouldn't do anything to hurt anyone. She just hoped he wasn't thinking about getting involved with the Initiative again. The first time he'd done that had been a debacle.   
  
Buffy sighed the events of those last two nights, the fight with Adam and the subsequent visitation by the First Slayer vividly running through her mind. Buffy frowned at the memories, the unease creeping back into her mind. It didn't make sense. The First Slayer was gone and they had survived. Everything was back to normal. Or was it?   
  
She'd withdrawn after her encounter with the First Slayer, meeting with her friends but not really being there and when Riley came back she'd found herself unable to connect sexually with him. He just wasn't enough anymore. Add to that her increased strength, something she'd only recently noticed when, during one of Riley's lengthy and boring monologues she'd looked down to find her fingers bending the metal railing on the Bronze catwalk without even trying. Whatever mold she had fitted into before wasn't enough any more. She was growing, expanding, changing -- for better or worse.   
  
Tension built up in her body at the thought, a heavy weight demanding to be dropped. She gave a resigned sigh and made her way down the stairs and out of the house. There was one definite way she knew she could count on to get the job done.   
  
Slaying.   
  
Any other options had been officially squelched. 


	6. Sea of Sensation

'Like, do you think I'm sexy?   
  
Do you think I really care?   
  
Can I burn the mazes I grow?   
  
Can I? I don't think so.'   
  
The night shone brilliantly around her. The hot air had chased away any lingering traces of dirt from the city and everything was illumined with an unearthly light. It gave Buffy cause to stop, to cast her gaze high to the sky above her. From her spot in the graveyard the stars sparkled and shown in a vivid quilt, their patterns dizzying as she took it all in and locked the memory away.   
  
"Beautiful, isn't it?"   
  
Buffy jumped at the sound of the familiar voice and turned to see Spike not too far from her, his eyes unreadable as he watched her star gaze. She managed a fleeting smile in his direction, one that he didn't even bother trying to return. He moved forward, quickly closing the space between them. He paused before her, his blue-grey eyes meting hers dauntingly.   
  
Buffy swallowed and attempted a step back, only to have Spike follow her, "What happened earlier between us, Spike … It can't happen again."   
  
He cocked his head to the side, his eyes studying her intently, "Why not, Slayer?"   
  
"Because it's wrong," despite her squared shoulders her voice came out weak and hesitating. She could feel her inner resolve crumbling as memories of the last two assignations flitted through her mind. It was all she could to suppress a shiver. Her eyes floated absentmindedly to his mouth and her tongue darted out to moisten her own lips which burned for the touch of him against them.   
  
He closed the distance between them, his hands coming to rest on her forearm and waist. She glanced up at him uncertainly, warily, the wolfish smirk he gave her doing little to quell her apprehension. He bent down and captured her bottom lip lightly between his blunt human teeth. She shivered, her eyes closing as his mouth moved from hers to the throbbing pulse point at her neck. Her head fell back as her world began to spin. Spike's mouth sucked lightly at the tender flesh, one wayward hand cupping her buttocks and pulling her tight against him so that she cradled his erection. His mouth moved from her neck to her earlobe and she let out a low moan as he sucked and nibbled.   
  
"You know you want it, Slayer," his vice was hoarse with desire as he raised one cool hand to her breast and teased the swollen flesh. Buffy let out another low moan, her eyes drifting closed as she lost herself on the sea of sensation.   
  
Spike's hands came up and tangled in her golden hair as he drew her mouth to his and engaged her in a burning kiss. Buffy's hands roamed over the planes of Spike's back as his tongue met with hers. He pressed tighter against her, his erection nudging teasingly against her stomach.   
  
Spike broke apart from her long enough to bring Buffy's tank top over her head, the thin fabric falling on the grass beside them. His eyes darkened as he took in her exposed breasts, the skin flushed and eager for his touch. His greedy fingers reached out to cup the firm, heated, flesh. Buffy drew in a sharp breath of air at the cool contact of his fingers on her bare flesh. Her eyes met his and she found him watching her face intently, cataloguing every emotion as he toyed with the taut nipple, traced the aureole, tantalized the soft underside of one breast, and then the other.   
  
He drew her to him and kissed her again, teasing her with his mouth and tongue, driving her deeper and deeper into madness as she clung to him desperately, his lips on hers and his squeezing, cajoling, fingers driving her to the edge of madness. Just when she thought that it couldn't go any further Spike's mouth slipped from hers and began to trace a fiery path down her neck, his cool tongue dipping into the hollow of her throat before his mouth closed on the hardened tip of one of her breasts.   
  
She groaned, her head falling back, her nails digging into his shoulders as his mouth suckled and teased, driving her further and further along the bank of ecstasy. Spike watched as she lost herself in the moment, the moonlight illuminating her exposed golden skin, making her glow with an unearthly light. She whimpered, arched against him, her fingers threading through his hair as he switched his mouth to her other breast and took her inside.   
  
* * *   
  
"You're absolutely sure Agent Finn that you won't reconsider our offer?"   
  
Riley stood still as he considered everything that had passed that night. It was a generous offer, placing prestige, wealth, and strength all before him. But he couldn't take it. He mentally sighed, his mind replaying how awry events had gone during the first Initiative operation. This second one would be a large gamble and despite the promised rewards he knew that there were other consequences that he risked; like losing Buffy. He shook his head, "No, sir, I'm afraid I'm unable to accept."   
  
General Arthur MacGruder studied the young man before him intently from his seat behind the expansive desk. That Finn had been one of their best was beyond doubt, it was a shame to let such a good soldier go. Not that MacGruder had any intention of actually letting the young soldier turn his back on the mission, if there was one thing Arthur always got it was his way. He wanted Finn back in the force and he would have him. Every man had a weakness, MacGruder had a feeling that Riley's would be relatively easy to discover and use against him. Just because he was a good soldier didn't mean he was bright.   
  
He gave the young soldier his best imitation of a sympathetic nod, "Very well, Finn. I can see that you're staunch in your decision."   
  
Riley nodded, "Yes, sir."   
  
MacGruder stood and walked around the table to shake hands with the young man. Riley returned the gesture calmly, "Good luck, Finn."   
  
"You too, sir," Riley turned to leave. He had already opened the door and was about to step out into the hall when MacGruder called him back.   
  
"You should take my card anyway," he handed the business card over to Finn who turned it over speculatively in his hands, "In case you change your mind." 


	7. Tonight

'Where can I run to?   
  
Where can I hide?   
  
Who will I turn to?   
  
Now I'm in a virgin state of mind.'   
  
July was at it's peak, the year frozen into the inertia of endless heat. The town of Sunnydale plodded on sluggishly, it's citizens watching the calendar hopefully, each waiting for autumn and the relief it promised from the unquenchable heat.   
  
Buffy managed a soft smile in Riley's direction as he settled across from her in the table. He smiled back, tenderly, his big hand reaching out to cup her smaller hand. She let his touch her, ignored the voice in her head that was cataloguing his flaws, comparing him to Spike. She blushed and Riley' smile deepened. He released her hand carefully and turned to his menu. Buffy followed suit, using the opportunity to organize her scattered wits.   
  
She'd agreed to this date with Riley mostly as a way to assuage her guilt, there was no doubt left her mind now about how her interactions with Spike would end. Forces much greater than either of them were conspiring to place them together -- passion, desire, possessiveness -- none would be denied. What unnerved her the most was how she relished it.   
  
Buffy sighed and scanned the menu. Riley looked up at her, a faint smile still on his face before he returned to his menu. Contentment rolled off him in waves, adding to the influx of guilt that plagued the Slayer. She frowned, attempting to push thoughts of Riley and Spike out of her mind; and failing miserably.   
  
She frowned, reluctantly resigning herself to the direction her mind had seemed inclined to follow lately. At first, she hadn't seen the problem with sharing a few kisses with Spike while maintaining her relationship with Riley. While Riley was by no means inexperienced he was not the connoisseur of the senses that Spike was. Where only a heated glance from Spike sent her reeling, Riley's most fervent attentions left her only mildly excited. The heat, her need and his persistent attentions all conspired against her. Despite her guilt and her initial reservations she knew it would only be a matter of time before she found herself in Spike's bed.   
  
At the thought a flush of pleasure went through her body, deepening the color of her skin.   
  
Riley watched her surreptitiously from over the rim of his menu. His eyes ran hungrily over her lithe form, clad only in a thin summer dress. His mouth grew dry as he drank in the sight, her long golden legs were displayed from the mid thigh downward, her delicate ankles and feet clad in a pair of strappy sandals. Her shoulder length blonde air floated about her, framing her face to distraction, softening her warrior's features.   
  
Unexpectedly she looked up and caught his eye and gave him another of her fleeting, teasing, smiles. Riley felt himself harden. Tonight, he thought excitedly, tonight he would have her.   
  
* * *   
  
Spike closed his eyes as he lay back on the sarcophagus. It was impossible for him, despite his strong romantic streak, to deny where he knew she was tonight. His ace hardened as he stared at the stained ceiling of the mausoleum. It had been inevitable, he'd known it from the start, as soon as he'd recovered from the glorious shock of laying his mouth against hers for the first time. It had been an epiphany for him, as he'd kissed and caressed, as he'd lost himself in her, drowned in her heat; he loved her.   
  
How long? He couldn't say. Long enough in his opinion.   
  
Spike scowled, trying to turn his thoughts away from the golden siren that haunted him. She wasn't his. Would never be his. No matter how much he loved her, pleasured her, changed her -- she'd always flee back to her world. To the sunlight, the hopeless dreams, to the Soldier Boy. Spike made a sharp sound of disgust, whether he was disgusted with her or himself he couldn't say. Most likely it was with the both of them -- and the whole damned world just for good measure.   
  
There was only one sane way to play the game with Slayer and survive intact. She must never discover the true nature of his feelings, the depths with which he loved her. It was too dangerous a weapon to place in her hands. One that would ultimately lead to his downfall.   
  
There was nothing saying, aside from a general unspoken agreement among the demon community, that he couldn't take have her physically. Indeed, after that last night in the graveyard -- when he'd brought her to new sensory heights -- he knew that it was inevitable. She wanted it as much as he did.   
  
Eagerness suffused his body, fanning the flames of his desire. Restlessly he rose from his spot and paced the narrow area. The exercise did little to ease the tension that gripped him. With a muttered curse Spike left the confines of his crypt, intent only on one thing. The Slayer, preferably writhing beneath him in ecstasy. One glance up at the moon hanging low in the sky confirmed his suspicions, it was well after three in the morning. If there was a time to make is move it would be now, when she would likely be secreted back in her room away from the hulking Neanderthal form of her boyfriend.   
  
Tonight he would end the game between them once and for all. 


	8. The Promise in Their Kiss

A/N: Certain pieces of this part are removed in order to comply with Fanfiction.net's smut rules. If you are of the age to view such content and wish to, the entire, unchanged work can be found at http://www.gypsy-dreamig.net. If not, deal with the censorship.  
  
'Morning smiles,   
  
Like the face of a newborn child,   
  
Innocent, unknowing.'   
  
Buffy scrubbed.   
  
The shower water pounded down on her, the rough droplets soothing her skin as she rubbed it desperately with the loofah. Soap sloughed off her body, her skin turning from golden to pink to an angry red. Still she scrubbed. Finally with a choked sob she dropped the sponge and leaned against the shower wall, letting the water pour over her as she cried.   
  
It had been a mistake to go to dinner with Riley, sheer folly to think that, knowing what she knew about pleasure, she could give herself to him again and continue on as unaffected as before. She shuddered, remembering his caresses and her inexplicable disgust at herself and him. When it was over she'd felt dirty, dirty and unsatisfied. She'd left with hardly a backward glance at his heavily sleeping form.   
  
The water began to cool and, reluctantly, she turned the shower off along with her tears. Now was not the time to cry. For her, there was never time.   
  
She dried herself off carefully, gently, in stark contrast to her earlier ministrations. Her bed looked soft and inviting and she sank down onto it. She warm and drowsy from her earlier emotional onslaught. She sighed and closed her eyes, drifting easily into the comforting sea of sleep.   
  
* * *   
  
Spike entered her room silently his gaze going instantly to the sleeping form of the Slayer. She lay partially on her back, her long golden hair framing her face and bare shoulders. Spike swallowed as he realized that she wore nothing but a towel. Deep in sleep, her features were softened, none of the normal tension or worries visible in her features. She sighed and shifted, revealing the tan length of one long leg.   
  
Silently, Spike shed his shirt and shoes noiselessly, his jeans uncomfortably tight. He ease down next to her on the bed slowly, his eyes taking in the sight of her, so peaceful, beneath him. One cool hand trailed gently across her hair, his eyes traveling from her face to the smooth column of her neck to her breasts which rose and fell tantalizingly beneath the towel.   
  
He brought his other hand to her face and caressed it lightly, she murmured restlessly, unconsciously turning towards his touch. He leaned down and brought his mouth to hers in a gentle kiss. Her lips parted beneath him and he entered, felt a sleepy awareness infuse her body, felt her respond. One cool hand moved from her hair to the joint where her neck and shoulder joined and rested there possessively. She was completely awake now, small gasps of breath escaping her mouth as he moved his mouth lower, the towel falling away as his hungry mouth sought her breasts.   
  
She moaned and arched into him, her flushed skin craving his touch. Her hands threaded through his hair as he moved from one breast to the other. She sighed, her hands moving from his head to his shoulders, scraping lightly over the skin of his back. He continued his downward path, his kisses leaving a burning trail down her stomach to her navel. He dipped his tongue in and blew lightly on the skin. His mouth finding the soft curve of her stomach before skating down to her knee.   
  
His cool lips kissed the tender underside of her knee, before placing a few kisses up and down her thigh.   
  
At the loss of his touch Buffy groaned in annoyance, the sound quickly changing to a gasp when he placed a cool kiss on the juncture of her thigh.  
  
If he could he would make this first time better than good for her, he would make it perfect.   
  
'Winter's end,   
  
Promises of a long lost friend,   
  
Speaks to me of comfort.'   
  
When she finally came to she was boneless and pliant beneath him as his mouth took hers again and again. Her fingers found his jeans and undid the buttons, freeing him, sliding the rough fabric down his legs so that he could kick them off. Spike hissed as his skin came into contact with her heat. The hard skin of her chest, teased her nipples while his mouth and hers dueled. Her hand traced the planes of his chest lovingly, skimmed down lightly over the sensitive skin of his stomach.  
  
"I want to be inside you," his voice was hoarse, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure when he spoke. He felt her pause, her small hand guiding him as her thighs parted. 


	9. Against Her Heated Skin

A/N: Certain pieces of this part are removed in order to comply with Fanfiction.net's smut rules. If you are of the age to view such content and wish to, the entire, unchanged work can be found at http://www.gypsy-dreamig.net. If not, deal with the censorship.  
  
i15 Miles Outside of Rio De Janero, Brazil 1999/i  
  
There was nothing all around him but emptiness. Miles and miles of soft soil, wretched trees and rich menacing plants. The air around him was silent and moist, uncurling his gelled blonde hair, weighing down on his already heavy shoulders. He pulled on his duster despite the heat, letting himself savor the movement of the worn leather as it settled around his form, the peace the familiar movement brought with it infusing him. He sucked in a deep, unneeded breath, stretching the moment out as long as possible before releasing it and turning to look back at the source of his tension.   
  
Drusilla stood perfectly poised atop the rickety wooden porch. She shone in the moonlight, her ebony hair and eyes a stark contrast to her delicate pale skin. She watched him without a sign of emotion on her placid lunatic's face. Her pale pink lips were a straight line, her stance calm, her embroidered ivory dress and shawl clinging lovingly to her sylphlike body.   
  
"So this is it then," Spike's voice cracked as his eyes roamed over her for what he felt would be that last time, "The grand fucking finale."   
  
She remained impassive, unmoved by the chaos swirling in his eyes, of the tension coiling his frame, of the abject misery that clung to him. When she spoke her voice was fluid, smooth, calm ,"You're heart has wandered far from here already. Dust to dust. It is not the same heart I made. Even Miss Edith can see, the burning baby gold fish have all gone out. There are only thorns. You are not for me anymore, Spike."   
  
He wrenched his gaze from her, no longer able to look. His undead heart burned, a searing paint at spread throughout his dead body, a numbing fear. He was leaving everything familiar, everything he loved, behind. And he desperately didn't want to. He swung his gaze pointedly as the slim-covered demon that stood in the shadows of the porch, his monstrous antlers melting mucus, a cold beer clutched between his mottled hands, "And he is, Dru? What can he do for you that I won't? That I can't?"   
  
She turned away from him, towards the shadows which were pierced only by the pale rays of moonlight. She swayed slightly, her eyes drifting closed before slowly sliding open and alighting on him, "You taste like ashes, Spike. All I see around you is her, laughing, Spike. The naughty Slayer holds your heart now between her hands. There is nothing I can do for you. Nothing you can do for me. Science will bring you to her. Wires and electricity. But it will not last. She has a secret. And she will bind you even further to her with it. She is for you now, not me."   
  
She turned her back to him now, dismissing him, her long black hair a shimmering cascade down her back. His fingers ached to reach up and caress it, to feel the familiar slide of that silk waterfall. He kept his distance, choking back on his tears. Silently he turned and walked away into the night, refusing to look back, refusing to accept what had happened, refusing, most of all, the tiny silver tears that fell from his eyes.   
  
Why, he asked himself, am I crying if it isn't good-bye?   
  
* * *   
  
'But I fear, I have nothing to give,   
  
I have so much to lose here,   
  
In this lonely place,   
  
Tangled up in our embrace.'   
  
Buffy awoke slowly, the cool caress of his hand running over her belly luring her from the world of sleep. She sighed, softening under his touch. His fingers traced comforting circles on her skin, keeping her between the worlds of sleep and awareness. He tempted her, his hand dipping lower and lower. Again and again he went, her skin heating beneath his cool touch.   
  
Buffy moaned, arching into his touch. Her body ached with the need for release, her sleepy eyes opening to stare into his blue ones, Her hands wound around his neck, her breasts pressing against his chest as she pressed against him, searching, wanting. He touched her and she exploded, fragmented, her world a blaze of sensation.   
  
Their kisses were soft and teasing, tender caresses as they reveled in their new found intimacy. His tongue probed her mouth gently, sliding against hers as his fingers gripped her waist. She groaned, threw her head back as a wave of sensory information washed over her body. Her breasts were taut against his chest now and she moaned out his name as the familiar tension began to grow within her once more.   
  
'There's nothing I'd like better than to fall.'   
  
The midday sunshine set her hair aglow, making her features angelic. She smiled, waved up to him from her spot on the back porch before returning to her phone conversation. Joyce had called not to long ago and Buffy, eager to talk to her mother, had taken the phone to the porch and been out there for the last hour. Spike watched from his perch in the guestroom as the sunlight caressed Buffy's legs, dipping it's warmth beneath the thin fabric of her cotton tank top, caressing her breasts, which he knew were braless, and skimming over her skin.   
  
The sun-god, Spike mused, was one lucky bastard.   
  
He looked backed down. Buffy had hung up the phone and sat on the porch, absorbing the heat, her head upturned. Spike sighed, and turned away from the vision and padded down the stairs. When he reached the kitchen she was inside again, humming happily, her shorts riding tantalizingly against her buttocks. Spike swallowed, struggling to tear his eyes away from the sight. Buffy, oblivious to her struggle, flashed him a brilliant smile and leaned against the counter, absently poking a few perfectly round grapes into her mouth.   
  
Forcing himself to concentrate on her eyes he took a seat opposite her, "So what did Joyce have to say, Slayer?"   
  
She smiled at him again, "She's coming home in a week." Absently, Buffy began to hum as Spike digested the information. She'd hadn't felt so … relaxed … in a very long time. Surreptitiously, she watched Spike under lower lids as she grabbed another grape and, slowly, popped it into her mouth. She was aware of the pressure that gripped Spike, she felt his eyes as boldly as any caress, she sucked on the grape, swallowed it with relish and closed her eyes, savoring the tangy juice.   
  
Spike swallowed heavily, his jeans more than uncomfortably tight. He slid easily off the stool and moved to her side of the counter. His cool hands slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him as his mouth hovered above hers. He could feel her heart beat quicken in anticipation. One warm hand came down to cover is cool chest, the other stroking the muscles of his forearm, "One week, huh? Doesn't give us much time, does it, pet?"   
  
She shrugged, moved closer to him, sinking into his comforting coolness, "Guess we better do something about that."   
  
He nodded, "Like make the best of the time we've got." His mouth covered hers quickly, luring her into a demanding kiss. His hands moved over her body, retracing the planes of her muscles before cupping and squeezing the fullness of one ripe breast. She gasped, her mouth parting for his tongue to slip in and meet hers. Her hands splayed out over his chest, circling the flat disks of his nipples, eliciting a small shiver from him. He deepened the kiss sending her sense flying. She clung desperately to him, certain that if she stopped she would fall boneless from his arms to the floor.   
  
'But I fear, I have nothing to give.' 


	10. Falling About Her

A/N: Certain pieces of this part are removed in order to comply with Fanfiction.net's smut rules. If you are of the age to view such content and wish to, the entire, unchanged work can be found at http://www.gypsy-dreaming.net. If not, deal with the censorship.  
  
* From William Shakespears "Othello" 3.4 v.160-163.  
  
'Wind in time,  
  
Rapes the flower trembling on the vine,   
  
And nothing leads to shelter it.'  
  
July was well underway and the summer heat hadn't waned at all. The inhabitants of Sunnydale were sluggish in their eat, alive and undead alike, each searching desperately for the pleasures that would allow them to escape the heat; to dawdle away the hours until night, and the nights until the fall.  
  
Buffy sighed and rolled over in bed, her hand languidly tracing the cool flesh of her lover. He stirred, his charcoal eyelashes forming shadowy crescent moons on the sharp planes of his face as he slept. Her hand moved from his arm to his chest, tracing one flat nipple before venturing down the middle to the hardness of his stomach. He stiffened, moaned, his eyes fluttering open to look at her as she sat above him, her long golden hair falling about her.  
  
Buffy was the first to stir, her body warm against Spike's cold chest. She kissed him lightly, teasingly, "I should go. It's almost morning."  
  
Spike nodded, kissing her back, "Your mum will be worried."  
  
Buffy sighed against his mouth, her agreement lost in his kiss.   
  
Joyce's return from her art buying trip a week ago had done little to discourage the pair. From her house they had ventured to Spike's crypt situated in the middle of the graveyard, conveniently furnished with a large feather bed on the lower level. Night after night they'd met, frantically, obsessively. Buffy, for her part, couldn't get enough of him. She lived solely for the moments when he entered her, filling her completely, bringing her to new heights of pleasure. Her nights were all his. Spike was just as enthralled, the scent of her haunting him in her absence, the sensory memory of her body tattooed on his very fibers.  
  
The net they had woven around each other was to tangled now to escape.  
  
Buffy left his bed reluctantly, dressing slowly beneath his heated gaze. He followed her lead, slipping on a pair of jeans as he escorted her to the upper level of the crypt. She stepped out into the warm night, Spike close behind her. His arms wrapped themselves about her waist, pulling her against him, his mouth finding her ear. She sighed, pressed into him and turned her head to kiss him.   
  
His hands stroked her stomach, her breasts, her neck, intimately. Every action betraying their intimacy, the ever-growing connection between them. When they pulled away they were both breathless, the silent night heavy around them. Her hand traced his face, before pulling him down into another kiss, "I don't want to go."  
  
He nodded, his hands tight on her body, "I know."  
  
She kissed him again before disentangling herself from her reluctantly. It was getting harder and harder to leave every time. Her body screamed out for his, desperate for his touch, his kisses. She began to walk away slowly, determinedly not looking back. She couldn't.  
  
* * *  
  
Arthur smiled at the photographs that lay on the table before him. This, he thought smugly, this was better than gold. Casually he flipped through the photos, chuckling as he viewed the blonde duo in a variety of compromising positions. That this would bring Finn around to his side he had no doubt.  
  
Love, when manipulated was a very powerful tool. Hatred, even more powerful, and Jealousy? Jealousy was the strongest. You could drive a man insane with just the barest whisper of the emotion, manipulate him until he saw nothing but green and fell easily into the trap set.   
  
Replacing the pictures in their manila envelope he leaned back in his plush office chair, arms behind his head as he contemplated the ceiling. Today would be a fine day indeed, "But jealous souls will not be answered so; / They are not ever jealous for the cause, / But jealous for their jealous. It is a monster / Begot upon itself, born on itself." * 


	11. Suffer a Little

Graham frowned down at the pamphernalia spread across the desk before him, his eyes unable to accept what they were clearly seeing: Buffy. More of her than he thought possible. The Slayer's body and face jumped out at him from the photos, her eyes lidded with pleasure, her mouth half-opened in gasps, and her limbs entwined around him. Hostile 17.   
  
Graham swallowed and glanced back to the open office door behind him before leaning down to study the pictures more closely. Yep, he thought bitterly, there was no mistaking it. It was definitely Buffy. He frowned, wondered absently if Riley knew, reached out and pocketed one of the pictures. With one last final glance around the room he left as quietly as he had entered, the thin sheet of glossy paper burning a hole through his coat pocket.   
  
The halls of the compound were mostly empty at the early hour of six in the morning, a fact Graham was exceedingly grateful for as he made his way hurriedly out of the building. He paused, blinking in the harsh morning sunlight before continuing down the streets of Sunnydale. Just what his discovery meant he still wasn't sure. What he did know was that there was definitely more to it than appeared on the surface. The General was watching the Slayer for a reason. A reason undoubtedly connected to Riley.   
  
Graham let another frown crease his face as he fingered the edges of the photo. Briefly he entertained the thought of telling Riley and letting him sort through it himself, but quickly discarded the thought. The news would crush Riley, and who knew what he'd do then? No, Graham decided, this was a matter he had to take up with the Slayer herself.   
  
Graham was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice the familiar hulking form until it called out his name. Graham started and found himself staring face to face into the bland, completely unaware face, of Riley Finn. Graham managed a weak smile, pushed the picture out of his mind and inquired about how his friend had been.   
  
* * *   
  
'From above,   
  
They say temptation will destroy our love.'   
  
Buffy smile absently at whatever Riley said to her, laying her hand on his as he continued on with his story, her mind drifting easily away from him. It had been a week since she'd seen Spike. One long, frustrating week.   
  
Riley squeezed her hand and she responded with yet another vague curve of her mouth. The movement appeased him and he turned his attention back to the platter of celery sticks and dressing before him. Buffy sighed, her eyes roving over the crowd that packed the Bronze, their skin shimmering in the yellow light. The music pounded through the speakers as the couples swayed together, their bodies melding together flawlessly time and time again as they danced.   
  
She couldn't put her finger on what it was exactly that had kept her away from Spike. It wasn't that she no longer wanted him. Just the memory of the things he could do with his mouth sent shivers throughout her body. Buffy's eyes drifted closed as she recalled the passionate kiss of their last parting.   
  
She sighed, her eyes fluttering open in disappointment as reality forced it's way to the forefront of her mind in the guise of her boyfriend, Riley Finn. He sat across from her at the table, oblivious to the turmoil building in his girlfriend, peacefully immersed in his celery and the simple pleasure of touching her hand. She hadn't felt so dirty in a long time. That, she realized belatedly, is why she had avoided Spike for the past week.   
  
Despite her driving hunger for the blonde vampire, she was very much aware that what she was doing was wrong. Not just because he was a vampire and she was a Slayer, they'd moved past that the moment their lips met, but because she was Buffy Summers and she had a boyfriend. And said boyfriend was most definitely not Spike. He's not even in the same ballpark, she mused absently as she watched him chomp on the greens.   
  
The halfway decent thing to do, if there was even a modicum of decency left at this point, would be to break things off with him. Riley deserved better than to date a girl who could only respond to the cool touch of the undead. Riley's heated caresses left her painfully unmoved and she accepted them solely as appeasement for her guilt. It seemed right that she should suffer a little.   
  
Despite the fatal direction their relationship was taking, Buffy couldn't bring herself to break it off with him. He was so safe: dependable, solid, there. She could never know with Spike. He was as indecipherable to her as Babylonian.   
  
The distinctive flash of white-blond hair flashed before her eyes and Buffy started, her eye sweeping the busy crowd frantically. Riley frowned at his girlfriend's sudden change in demeanor. His hand reached out to touch hers lightly and she jumped before giving him a flighty smile, "Is everything all right?"   
  
She nodded briskly, "Right as rain." She managed another brief smile before standing up, "I'm gonna go to the ladies' room." Riley nodded and smiled at her, his brown eyes watching her furtively as she made her way across the club.   
  
She'd barely made it to the bathroom door when she felt herself being yanked down the dark corridor and into the small utility closet at the end. She whirled around angrily to face her opponent, her fist shooting out to hit him across the jaw. The blow glanced off the side of Spike's face as he grabbed her arms, pinning them to her sides before brutally covering her mouth with his.   
  
'The never-ending hunger.'   
  
She groaned, her mind going blank as he slipped his tongue inside of her mouth. She responded to hi boldly, her tongue meeting his stroke for stroke as her hands wandered over his body, leaving feverishly hot prints on his body. His own cool hands came up to cup the firmness of her breast through her shirt, eliciting a sharp moan from her as his thumb flicked over a taut nipple, sending waves of electricity throughout her body.   
  
She arched into him, her body turning soft and pliant under his demanding hands. His mouth left hers, trailing kisses down the graceful column of her neck to the exposed tops of her breasts. She shrugged out of the thin spaghetti straps of her shirt, letting he silky fabric fall around her waist. Spike paused momentarily to appreciate the fact that she'd foregone a bra before placing his mouth on the tender peaks of her breasts.   
  
Buffy sighed, her fingers threading through his hair, freeing it from it's gel as she curled the strands around her fingers as Spike took first one, and then the other, breast into his mouth. He teased her mercilessly, until she felt for sure she would explode from the sensations his mouth invoked. Deftly, his long fingers slipped beneath her skit to trace her opening through the thin lacy underwear before slipping beneath the barrier and entering her.   
  
She whimpered as he stroked her tenderly, his mouth still on her breast. Her knees trembled when he finally left her warmth to slither up the length of her body. His mouth found hers again, his teeth dragging along her lower lip as he lifted her legs and braced her against the wall. Her small hand stroked his length once, roughly, through the jeans before reaching for the zipper and unfastening it.   
  
Spike's eyes drifted closed as he caressed her heat, probing shallowly between her legs. She whimpered and tried to pull him tighter to her. He kissed her again, his dark grey eyes meeting her hazel one as he murmured absently, "I missed you."   
  
"I missed you."   
  
He groaned as she wrapped around him, the soft mounds of her breasts pressed enticingly against his chest. With one swift stroke he entered her, his name leaving her lips as she took him in, tightened around him, and brought him home.   
  
* * *   
  
Buffy swept her long blonde hair back from her face as she bent down to touch her toes, letting out a contented sigh as the muscles of her body stretched and relaxed at the pressure. She switched sides before slowly rolling upwards and extending her arms skyward. She was jut about to embark and a few more serious stretches when he mother's voice called to her from the kitchen, informing her that she had a visitor.   
  
Buffy entered the kitchen and, with a quick smile for her mom, into the hallway where she started in surprise as she stared up at the large form of Graham. She cleared her throat nervously and gave him a small smile, "Is something the matter?"   
  
Graham hesitated, the picture heavy in his pocket. Now that he was here he wasn't too sure that he could carry out the mission he'd set for himself. He shifted nervously, set his shoulders and managed to return her gaze without flinching, "Do you have somewhere where we can talk in private?"   
  
Her eyebrows drew together in confusion as she studied the man before her. That something was bothering him was plainly obvious. Every line of his body was hardened as if he expected battle and one hand was clenched inside his jacket. Warily, she gestured for him to follow her up the stairs to her room. Graham paused on the threshold of the room, taking in the confection. Everything thing about it screamed that this was a girl in the bloom of womanhood, still innocent in some ways despite all she'd seen. For a moment, Graham almost fled the room, the house, and the damming picture which rested in his pocket.   
  
She looked up at him from where she was perched on the edge of her bed, her hazel eyes clearly troubled as she watched him, "Are you coming in?"   
  
Graham nodded and stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him, "I have something that I think you need to see." He pulled the picture out of his pocket slowly, and placed it in her outstretched hand. Buffy let out a gasp as she found herself staring down at a photograph of herself in a more than compromising position. She blushed scarlet, her hands shaking as the implications of such a pictures existence meant.   
  
"Where did you get this?"   
  
Despite her shaking she still managed to interject a certain amount of threat into the question and Graham swallowed hard before meeting her eyes, "From the General's office."   
  
"General?"   
  
Graham nodded, "General Arthur MacGruder, the new head of the Initiative." Graham paused, letting the information sink in before continuing, "There are way more of them than just this."   
  
Buffy's shoulder's slumped as the picture fluttered soundlessly to the floor.   
  
'I have so much to lose,   
  
I have nothing to give,   
  
We have so much to lose.' 


	12. I Could Spend Forever

'How the hell did we wind up like this?  
  
Why weren't we able,  
  
To see the signs that we missed?  
  
And tried to turn the tables?'  
  
Buffy felt faint as she stood before the imposing stone façade of the mausoleum. The summer night was warm, the wheel of the year turning towards august and it's long, moist, days. Buffy shivered despite the heat and hesitantly placed her hand on the door. He was inside, she could feel him even through the thick layer of brick, mortar and steel that separated them. She took in a deep, calming, breath; focusing herself on what she'd come here to do.  
  
What she now had to do.  
  
She grimaced at the thought, her resolve wavering as the wave of anguish that had first swept over her at Graham's ultimatum returned. He'd made his expectations clear: She was to choose one or the other, preferably Riley. It wasn't much of a choice when it came down to it. She knew that choosing to remain with Riley meant resigning herself to an indefinite period of emptiness. Whatever love she had felt for Riley was quickly fading; responsibility and guilt growing in it's stead. Emotions that refused to be ignored.  
  
But could her feelings for Spike, feelings that she had yet to fully realize but who promised to be more than fulfilling -- Could those feelings be ignored so easily? She might not have much experience with love and it's assortment of related emotions, but she was sure they were just as heavy as her guilt. More dangerous too, she thought, her mind racing over her carelessness of the last month. She'd been willing to risk everything for Spike. Her reputation, her family, her friends -- herself. And she was paying for it. God, she mourned, am I paying for it.  
  
She'd opened up to him in ways she hadn't thought she'd ever be able to since the fateful night of her seventeenth birthday. Spike had made her remember how ii was to feel, to lose yourself completely in passion; he'd reminded her how beautiful surrender could be, and how utterly, consumingly, terrifying as well.   
  
She had to do this. If not for her past feelings for Riley, than for herself, because she knew that if she gave in now and chose Spike, she'd never be free of him. He would absorb all of her, sweep her away on the tide pf his emotion, and when he left, because they al eventually did, she wouldn't even have her soul left to call her own. At least with Riley she could keep the walls up. He would never touch that place inside of her that remembered and yearned for the kind of passion Spike promised her. She would be safe with him.   
  
Resolve settled heavily on her shoulders and, determined once again to follow through with her plan, she pushed the heavy crypt door open.  
  
'I wish you'd unclench your fists,  
  
And unpack your suitcase,  
  
Lately, there's been too much of this,  
  
But don't think it's late.'  
  
He sat shirtless on the sarcophagus in the middle of the floor. Lit candles littered the area and his skin shone pale gold and silver in their light. His swirling, darkening, grey-blue eyes met hers and he smiled, wickedly. Buffy sucked in her breath as her eyes began wantonly roving over his body; from the tousled spikes of his hair, to the chiseled planes of his face, down to the smooth male breasts, to his hard stomach. He stirred and hardened under her regarded and heat suffused her face as her eyes darted back up to meet his, her self-assurance quickly fading.  
  
With cat-like grace he slid off the cold stone and prowled towards her, his hungry eyes never leaving hers. Unconsciously, her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, heat pooling in her center as he stopped before her, his eyes still claiming hers, refusing to let her look elsewhere. He bent down, his lips touching hers with aching softness, gently probing, tasting, the now familiar terrain. His cool hands come up to her bare shoulders, and slid beneath the straps of her tank top, her already hot skin heating under his fingers' regard. Her mouth opened and she drank him in, memorized the taste of him, the scent that emitted from his body, the texture of his fingers against her bare skin, and felt her heart break.  
  
"God," he sighed against the skin of her neck, "the way you feel Summers. It's enough to make a man lose his head. Or his soul." He smirked against the column of her throat, his tongue darting it out to taste her skin, "Or in my case, the remnants anyway." His mouth fond her again and she melted willingly into his touch, "I could spend forever doing this."  
  
She let out a small sob as the remnants of her already broken heart withered into dust. He pulled back from her, concern marring his features, "What is it, Slayer? What's wrong?"  
  
She pulled away from him, presenting her back to him as she struggled to bring her turbulent emotions under control. He took a step forward and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder, "Buffy?"  
  
Her eyes fluttered closed as she relished the brief contact and, gathering the last of her resolve together, turned to face him, "I need to talk to you."  
  
'Nothing's wrong just as long as you know someday I will --  
  
Someday, somehow I'm going to make it alright,  
  
But not right now,  
  
I know you're wondering when.  
  
Someday, somehow I'm gonna make it alright,  
  
But not right now,  
  
I know you're wondering when.'  
  
He nodded and reading something in her eyes, took a step away from her, his face growing shuttered. He moved away to the sarcophagus and, picking up a pack of cigarettes, lit one with the flame of one of the candles. He took a long drag on it before answering, "What about, Slayer?"  
  
Oh god, she thought as her stomach plummeted to her feet, he knows, "These last few weeks have been incredible."  
  
He nodded, his eyes still watching her warily as she made her way nervously around the crypt. He nodded, smirking, displaying more confidence than he felt, "That it has, Slayer. But that's not the point is it?"  
  
She shook her head, nervously, her hand tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, "But it can't continue." She stopped and briefly looked at him before turning away, "We both knew this couldn't last forever, and it's time that we both moved on for our own good --"  
  
He snorted, "Sing me another one, Slayer." He flung his cigarette to the ground, crushing it with the rage he felt rising through him. The muscle in his jaw twitched uncontrollably when he looked back at her, his eyes smoldering with the weight of his pent up emotions, "Give me one good reason I should let you go."  
  
"Riley," she answered without hesitation and instantly wished she could take it back as his face darkened with rage. Stiffening her spine she prepared to face him, "He doesn't deserve a girlfriend who cheats on him."  
  
"So leave him," Spike snarled.  
  
She shook her head, "It's not that simple."  
  
He was across the crypt in two steps, his hands clutching hers, bruising the skin that he had so tenderly caressed only a few moments before, "It is that simple! You don't love him!"  
  
Buffy's arms throbbed where his fingers dug into her skin and she could feel her own ire rising in response to him. Vehemently she spat out, "And who says I love you?"  
  
'And I hope that since we're here anyway,  
  
We can end it saying,  
  
Things we've always needed to say,  
  
So we can end up staying.'  
  
He stopped shaking her and his face grew deadly calm. She stared back at him unflinchingly, too far gone in the disaster that was the end of the relationship to give up now. For her sake she couldn't.  
  
He considered her slowly, before pulling her flush against him. She gasped at the sudden sensuality of the contact, his hardness throbbing against her soft stomach. "This," he said hoarsely, "This says that you love me." He covered her mouth brutally, plundered her, claimed her, left her breathless and pliant in his arms. She cling to him, her hands winding around his neck as he seduced her with his mouth, with his fingers which rubbed away the tension in her arms and neck while skillfully fondling one heavy breasts. She moaned against him, strained against the confines of her clothing as her world narrowed down to him and him alone.   
  
He pulled away and she let out a small moan at the sudden loss, her breathing heavy as her eyes fluttered open to find staring down at her, "Tell me that you don't feel anything when we do that. Convince me that the whole world doesn't disappear and that it's as if your whole life, your very being, doesn't depend on that contact. Tell me that you don't care."  
  
She couldn't. The realization brought her breath to a stop as she studied the face of the demon -- no, man -- before her. God help me, she thought, I love him. It was witch aching slowness that she slid out of his arms. He was vulnerable above her, his eyes pleading, desperate to convince her. She had to look away because she knew that if she continued the contact she would give in and throw everything away for him. And how she wanted too. She turned away slowly, ignoring the hand that reached out to grab her. For a split second she hesitated on the threshold as the full realization of what she was about to do, to lose, settled on her.  
  
She didn't know how she managed to walk out of the crypt or how she got home and into her cold, empty bed. She was numb inside and she knew that she would never feel any other way ever again.  
  
'Now the story's played out like this,  
  
Just like a paperback novel,  
  
Let's rewrite an ending that fits,  
  
Instead of a Hollywood horror.  
  
Nothing's wrong just as long as you know that someday I will --' 


	13. Exposed and Fragile

'You say I only hear what I want to.   
  
You say I talk so all the time, so.'   
  
She kissed him. Desperately, madly, frantically. She kissed him like there was no tomorrow. She kissed him because she knew if she stopped there wouldn't be.   
  
His hands tightened around her, comfortingly, holding her so close that she thought she would die if she couldn't get closer; couldn't get inside him. And then she was and he was in her and they were moving as she called out his name as he breathed against her neck, his mouth on her breasts and his hands between her legs where they joined. Her own hands splayed across the smooth expanse of his back, curled into his hair and traced the harsh planes of his face.   
  
She told him she loved him, told him she was his forever, offered up her neck and he took it, marked her, claimed her.   
  
And when it was she looked up at him and it wasn't her lover staring down at her. It was Riley and she screamed and screamed and screamed …   
  
'And I thought what I felt was simple,   
  
And I thought that I don't belong,   
  
And now that I am leaving,   
  
Now I know that I did something wrong 'cause I missed you.'   
  
The first of August dawned hot and muggy, the red sunlight slanting in through Buffy's bedroom windows to fill her room. She lay motionless on the bed, her hazel eyes staring unseeingly at the ceiling. It would be better, she considered morosely, if she was dead. Spike was gone, thrown out by her own hand, and that spark that had characterized her life, her purpose, meaning, her very essence, had flown with him.   
  
Just like she had thought it would be.   
  
Tears filled her eyes and she forced them back, reminded herself why she had done what she had done. Even if she never felt again, she reasoned, she would be safe within her numbness; untouchable, shielded. Alone.   
  
The word and all it's implications haunted her; reverberating around the walls of her room until all she could see, hear and feel was the word. She turned on her side as the first of her tears silently fell. She had no one else to blame but herself and it cut her to the quick. By taking the easy way out, leaving Spike, she had condemned herself to a fate that even know she couldn't fully comprehend.   
  
Hurriedly she brushed away the tears (she hated to cry) and sat up. She could still make it work she told herself, just because she and Spike weren't together any more didn't mean her life had to end. She's survived worse before. Hell, she thought wryly, I killed my first lover.   
  
Determined to push the incident behind her she slid from her bed and stretched in the red sunlight. She opened her closet and ran her hands over her clothes, trying to determine which shirt to wear. Finally deciding on a thing gray tank top, she shrugged out of her tank top from the day before, letting it hit the floor as she tugged on the shirt. Her jean followed as she dawned a soft pair of camel colored pants.   
  
She leaned down to the floor to pick up her jeans and paused when her hand felt something hard in the pocket. Curious, she reached her hand inside the pocket and pulled it out. Nestling in the palm of her hand was Spike's silver lighter.   
  
* * *   
  
Alcohol, Spike concluded, was a bloody amazing therapist.   
  
The amber liquid burned within him scraping his esophagus, warming him from the inside out until he was too hot to think, to hot to feel, to hot to remember. False warmth spread throughout him, making him believe in his addled state that he was alive again, in the sun with her. He'd felt like that once before, when he'd been inside her, when he touched the most hidden parts of her self and she'd opened under him like a flower -- exposed and fragile -- and filled him until there was nothing else left. She had been his sun.   
  
Spike pushed the thought away and took another drink of the liquor, letting it work it's way through his body. Hopefully, he prayed, it wouldn't be too much longer until he passed out. His vision blurred and the crumbling ceiling of the crypt dipped and swayed above him, lulling his eyes back closed.   
  
Bright light lurked behind his lids, drawing him deeper and deeper into unconsciousness, promising him escape. He let himself float away, light on the wings of his drunkenness, blissfully unaware of the cold, empty crypt around him, deaf to the echoes of her voice.   
  
And who says I love you?   
  
'Yeah, yeah, I missed you.' 


	14. Bits of Seaweed and Shell

'And you say, I only hear what I want to,   
  
I don't listen hard,   
  
I don't pay attention to the distance that you're running   
  
To anyone, anywhere,   
  
I don't understand if you really care,   
  
I'm only hearing negative: no, no, no.'   
  
Accepting Willow's invitation to go the beach with Riley, Tara, Xander and her had appeared to be the perfect way to forget about Spike and his lighter; which, despite her determination to put him behind her, rested heavily in the pocket of her beach bag. She could picture it's rectangular metallic casing, glinting in her palm as she'd held it up in the light of her bedroom window. She hadn't wanted to believe it at first; she'd finally, painfully, cut her ties with him and yet, there, in the palm of her hand sat his lighter, his favorite lighter, the one he would surely be missing soon. She'd wanted to laugh. It wasn't for lack of trying that she hadn't, the only sound she'd been able to make was somewhere between a sob and a shriek, barely resembling anything human. In the end she'd done the only thing she could think to do with it.   
  
She'd put it back in her pocket and then gone to the beach. Stupid, really, when she thought about it. It would have been much better if she'd thrown it away, melted it even, or smashed it. Anything would have been better than keeping it.   
  
She started at the sudden presence behind her and, prepared to plaster on an overly-bright smile, the kind she'd been sporting all day for the benefit of her friends, found herself facing the serene face of Tara. The girl smiled, and ducked her head shyly while mumbling an indiscrete "hey". The false smile never made it to her face. Instead, Buffy only managed a slight upturning of her mouth before she focused her gaze back on the tide.   
  
Tara sat beside her silently in the sand, the cool ocean water lapping at their feet while the slight breeze ruffled their hair. Behind them they could hear the other's laughter as they fooled around on the beach; Riley's laughter reached her ears and, try as she might, she was unable to find a response to it in her heart. What did she care about hit happiness? It had cost her everything she loved.   
  
Buffy sighed and rolled her shoulders, stretching her neck and arms.   
  
"You know," Tara's quiet voice broke through Buffy's solitude, "when I first came out of the closet it wasn't easy." She paused, gauging Buffy's attention before continuing, "Before Willow, when I-I was at home, there was a girl." She shrugged, "My … family d-didn't approve. I did it anyway."   
  
Buffy nodded, slightly confused by Tara's confidences, "It must have been hard."   
  
Tara smiled, "B-but worth it, y'know?"   
  
Buffy turned her gaze back to the sea, thinking of the lighter in the duffel bag pocket, "Yeah, I know." Silence followed her statement as the watched the waves roll through the ocean, green and blue and white, foam and bits of seaweed and shell.   
  
Finally, Tara stood, brushing the dirt from her legs as she went, "If you love him then y-you should b-be with h-him. The p-people w-who love y-you will l-learn to accept it, a-and, i-if not," she shrugged, "W-were th-they worth it a-anyway?"   
  
"H-how, did you know?"   
  
Tara smiled, "I-I saw. A-at the Bronze." With one last smile she turned to join the others, leaving Buffy sitting stunned on the sand. The horizon spread far out before her, seemingly full of possibilities and, just for a moment, the heaviness lifted from her shoulders. It was clear then, in that instant when she was free from her burdens, that she didn't need Spike to survive. She loved, breathed, him, but she was still herself, still Buffy. Aged perhaps, bitter now, but still herself, still going, even without her heart. A heart that, if she believed Tara, she wouldn't have to go on without too much longer.   
  
She stood, determination taking root. To hell with them all, she thought, Spike is what I want and everyone else can just deal. Quickly, she began walking away from the beach, stopping only to grab her duffel bag and reassure her friends while returning Tara's knowing smile and ignoring Riley's darkly questioning gaze.   
  
Hopefully, there was still time to make it right.   
  
'So I turned the radio on, I turned the radio up,   
  
And this woman was singing my song,   
  
Lovers in love and the others run away,   
  
Lover is crying cause the other won't stay.'   
  
Spike loaded the last of his meager belongings into the beat-up backseat of his DeSoto. All around him Sunnydale was as still as death, the humid night chasing the town's inhabitants inside, away from the elements. There was never a better time to leave.   
  
He slammed the back door shut and gave the hood of the car a loving pat. She'd served him well for all the years that he'd had her, with any luck she'd continue doing so. Spike turned back towards the crypt and walked into the empty space one last time. His duster hung heavily over the edge of the sarcophagus. He picked it up and donned it slowly, his mind flashing back to the last time he donned the duster that way; back in Brazil, back with Drusilla.   
  
He shook the image away. He didn't need to see her, standing white and perfect in the moonlight now, her dark eyes watching him as he'd walked away down that Brazilian dirt road. The image shifted and it was no longer Drusilla he saw in his mind's eyes but Buffy, her skin golden in the fading sunlight, her hazel eyes hollow as she turned away from him, the sunbeam of her hair setting around her squared shoulders as she walked out of his crypt; out of his life.   
  
"Bloody hell," Spike mumbled under his breath, "A man's gotta know when to leave. Now's as good a time as any, when I still have some dignity intact."   
  
Only silence answered him.   
  
He strode awkwardly out of the crypt, pausing just over the stone threshold. His eyes fluttered closed as he breathed in the moist night air, letting the heat wash over him, before opening them and striding off towards the car. If he didn't leave now, he might not ever. He was only a few feet from the car when he stopped, his eyes roaming unbelievably over the slight form of his recent torment. She walked towards him slowly, arms wrapped awkwardly around herself despite the heat. She hesitated when she noticed that he'd seen her, her teeth chewing awkwardly on her bottom lip. Her hazel eyes lifted to his and Spike followed and felt his heart drop as he searched the sparkling orbs in the dark. Damn, he thought, she would bloody appear when he was trying to leave.   
  
She continued forward, stopping almost directly before him. His hands reached to reach out and grab her, to close the last twelve inches with the force of their bodies, the crush of their mouths. He could almost feel the slide of her hair under his palms, almost hear the soft cries that she made in the darkness.   
  
"Spike," her voice broke through his reverie, chasing the thoughts away from him.   
  
"Slayer," he acknowledged, his voice cool and steady as his cerulean grey eyes met hers. Silence followed his statement as they watched each other. Finally, Spike continued, "Was there something that you needed? Perhaps you didn't quite grind my heart to dust enough on the last meeting?"   
  
She flinched at that last comment and Spike felt a small twisting surge of gratification. Good, he mused bitterly, she should suffer too. She shook her head, took another small step towards him, "Spike, I need to talk to you."   
  
He shook his head, the bitterness and anger that he'd been harboring over the last two days rising in his throat as he took in her soft eyes and glowing skin, and silken hair and parted mouth … He was drowning despite everything he'd resolved and the realization only made his ire grow, "I think you made yourself perfectly clear last time, Slayer. I was your fuck toy, nothing else, and when you got tired of me you let me know it! Well," he sneered, his hands giving into the temptation to grab her, her skin hot beneath his rough palms as he pulled her flush against him, ignoring the hurt look in her eyes, ignoring the soft mounds of her breasts which pushed painfully against his chest, "I hope you've made enough memories to last you through your spinster nights because, no matter what you say, Riley will never make you feel the way I know I did. To hell with all your stupid protests."   
  
Buffy let out a small dry sob and said his name again, her hands on his chest, the metallic hardness in her palm pressing against his chest but he was only dimly aware of it as he stared down at her. "Well," he said, "I can't bloody forget, I'm going to make sure you can't either."   
  
He kissed her hard, his mouth moving hers open so that their tongues could meet and dance. She stilled beneath him, her hands tightening in the folds of the fabric of his t-shirt. Her lips slid over his, her breath sighing his name as his hands stroked her, claimed her, brought her closer to him. He was burning for her heat, burning from the small cries that he coaxed from her mouth, from the feel of her against him. All too soon though it was over and he stood, holding her, panting, against him. Taking his hands from her was the hardest thing he ever had to do.   
  
'Some of us hover when we weep for the other who was   
  
Dying since the day they were born.'   
  
He moved awkwardly, slowly, towards his car. He pulled the duster tighter; despite the heat, he was cold.   
  
"Spike," her voice cut him short and turned back around to face her. She stood directly behind him, her palm outstretched. Slowly, her fingers uncurled and there, sitting in the midst of her palm, was his lighter. "I'm returning your lighter to you," she shrugged, "Not that that isn't blatantly obvious but … You should have it."   
  
He stared down at the little rectangular piece of metal in her palm, watching as it shimmered dimly in the light of the stars. He knew that if he were to take t now it would be warm, like her hand, in his pocket. But the heat would fade, he reminded himself, he didn't have any to lend it, "Keep it."   
  
She shook her head and thrust the lighter forward trying to press it into his hand, already he could feel the heat leaving it, "No," he said simply, catching her palm and reclosing her fingers over the lighter, "Keep it. Something to remember me by when I'm gone."   
  
"I don't want you gone, Spike," she laid the hand holding the lighter against his chest, her eyes searching his desperately, "I want you here."   
  
"I can't, Buffy," his voice broke on her name, but he was long past trying to salvage his pride, long past pretending that he had anything worth leaving with. He'd known the truth the moment he'd sat eyes on her coming towards him in the darkness, "Can't you understand Slayer? It's killing me to be here, to be near you, and to know that you'd rather have him. Knowing what you know, responding the way you respond, and, despite all that, choosing him."   
  
'Well, well, this is not that;   
  
I think that I'm throwing but I'm thrown.'   
  
"That's just the thing, Spike," she pressed closer against him, her fingers entwining with his, "I can't choose him, Spike. I don't love him."   
  
The implications in her words stunned him, gave him back his dangerous, heady, grip on hope. He searched her eyes, saw the truth in them, felt it in the tightening of her fingers, the quickening of her breath. It was all he needed.   
  
He kissed her against, softer this time, his mouth tasting, teasing hers, relearning familiar textures and paths. Her hand opened and the lighter fell between them to the wet grass as her arms wound around his neck, across his shoulders, over his chest. Finally they pulled apart, breathing heavily.   
  
"C'mon," Buffy said, grabbing his hand, "Let's go home."   
  
'You said, 'I caught you 'cause I want you and one day I'll let you go.'   
  
You try to give away a keeper, or keep me cause you know you're just scared to lose.   
  
And you say, 'Stay.'   
  
And you say, 'I only hear what I want to.'' 


	15. Giving Away

* Parts of this chapter are edited to comply with fanfiction.net's smut rules. The full unedited version can be found at http://www.gypsy-dreaming.net.  
  
Riley saw red; careful, controlled, red -- the color of anger, the color of betrayal. The muscle in his jaw twitched as he bent down to pick up the hard rectangular object from the wet grass. His hand closed tightly around the metal, squeezing it, wishing he could break it with just the strength of his rage. Of course, he thought bitterly, I can't.   
  
He growled and flung the lighter, cursing his own humanity as he watched the lighter arc in the thick night air before falling with a low thud to the ground. Idiot, he thought, the entire time you were with her, the entire time that you spent loving her she was with someone else, loving someone -- something! -- else! He growled at the fact his fists clenching as he glanced back down the path that the blonde couple had taken, drunk on their happiness they hadn't noticed him watching, which meant, he realized, that they didn't know that he knew all about them.   
  
He stilled, his anger, cooling, hardening as a plan formed in his mind. This was, he realized, the perfect opportunity to make her pay, to make them both pay for what they'd done to him. Calmer now, Riley walked over to where the lighter lay on the ground and picked it up, caressing the cool metal.   
  
Yes, he thought with a bitter smile, she'll pay. She'll pay dearly.   
  
The shrill ring of his cell phone jolted him out of his reverie. He hesitated for a split second, torn between curiosity and the desire to continue his murderous train of thought. He answered it.   
  
A calculating smile spread across his features as he recognized the voice on the other end -- General Arthur MacGruder. "Yes sir," he adopted the carefully cool, obedient voice he had learned during his time in the Initiative, "I can be there promptly, sir." With a click the line went dead.   
  
For a moment, Riley stared at the smooth glass screen of the phone, the brief conversation playing through his head. The General wanted to see him, immediately, on urgent business. Business that he had hinted Riley might have a personal investment in. Odds are, Riley thought soberly, he's found out about the little slut and her boy-toy too.   
  
Replacing the phone in the pocket of his khakis he stood for a moment longer, inhaling the warm night air as he sought to calm his nerves. Now was not the time to be rash, he reprimanded himself, it was essential that he didn't let the General know that he knew about Buffy and Hostile 17. It would be better to keep his hand guarded, he smiled evilly, who knows what opportunity for revenge the General might provide him with?   
  
Tucking the lighter in his pocket as well, Riley started down the quiet night street. Fortune, he decided, was definitely on his side.   
  
* * *   
  
'Your eyes shine bright, like a Jesus nightlight   
  
I'd like to touch your positive vibes.   
  
Indifferent eyes won't give me the time,   
  
May I help put aside your moral fiber?'   
  
Buffy let out a small gasp as the hard wood of the door bumped against her back. Spike's mouth quickly reclaimed hers, leading her through searing kiss after searing kiss. She moaned, her hands winding throughout the peroxide locks of his hair, her skin straining to touch his through the cloth barriers of their clothes. She ground his pelvis against her and she lout a whimper, her head arching back so that his cool lips could trail down the slender white column.   
  
Her mouth burned and she pulled his face back up to hers for another kiss, her tongue tracing his, her soft lips giving way to his hard demanding ones. With a groan Spike pulled away from her, allowing her the chance to catch her breathe. Her mouth caught his again, briefly, before turning and beginning to unlock the door.   
  
"Your mum," he whispered against her ear, her slick scent filling his nostrils. She smelled like sunshine and sand; like ocean water and sweat; and, underneath it all, was the scent that he could only describe as quintessentially Buffy. He could just drown in the smell of her.   
  
She shook her head as she pushed the door open to reveal the dark foyer, "Another art buying trip. Summer's her big buying month. Spike nodded as she closed the door behind them and turned to face him. Her hazel eyes roamed the harsh, angular, planes of his face. The contrasting textures of his face were heightened by the darkness thy stood in. Despite her limited vision though she was keenly aware of the swirling colors of his eyes, colors that darkened as he looked at her.   
  
He leaned forward slowly, savoring the anticipation the filled the moment before he touched her. She gasped at the feather light feel of his fingers on her collarbone, tracing the hollow of the delicate skin. One long finger ran up the side of her neck to just below her ear before plunging into the sea of her hair. Her eyes fluttered closed as he guided her gently forward, his lips hovering an electric centimeter from hers. Her pink tongue darted out and moistened the skin; a blatant invitation if he ever saw one.   
  
He pressed his lips to hers gently, almost chastely, and she sighed and shivered at the limited contact. He pulled back only a fraction of the inch as she savored the moment with closed eyes. Finally they fluttered open, the hazel deepening to green as her fingers entwined with his and she tugged him towards the stairs, "Come."   
  
'You're dressed in white, my face is white,   
  
I'd like to be a colorful sight to see.   
  
I'm only here in a background,   
  
Here on the ground lies my head.'   
  
He followed her in a daze, tripping up the carpeted stairs, the heat of her hand branding him as she led him through the narrow darkened halls to the door at the end; the door to her room. He paused for a moment on the threshold, his eyes taking in the surroundings which had become a familiar backdrop for their lovemaking during that first fateful week. The week that ha changed their lives. Purposefully, he stepped into the room and closed the door quietly behind him.   
  
She stood before the bed, her eyes shining in the moonlight that streamed in through the window, her lips moist and parted, waiting. He came before her slowly, one cool hand coming to rest on the deceptively delicate curve of her shoulder. Her eyes closed as desire lanced through her. His fingers slipped beneath the flimsy cotton trap of her tang top and guided it gently down the length of her arm. She shrugged her shoulders and the thin material hung from the tips of her breasts for what seemed an interminable moment before slipping down the floor to pool at her feet.   
  
She wasn't wearing a bra. Spike's mouth went dry as he took in the sight of her breasts, golden and proud in the darkness, the nipples flushed and ready for him. His hand moved downwards to cup one in the palm of his hand, his thumb flicking over the tip, causing Buffy's head to fall back and a small whimper to emit from her throat. He took another step closer, his other hand moving to the waistband of her jeans. He undid them deftly, moving the cloth down her hips until it too lay at her feet and she stood before him naked except for the sheer material of her thong.   
  
His thumbs hooked in the thin material, prepared to remove that least barrier as well when she pressed her hand to his chest, "No, not yet."   
  
He nodded and let her run her hands over the hard planes of his chest. Her tiny hands slipped beneath the heavy leather material of his duster and pushing the dark leather from his shoulders to the floor. She pressed against him, the heat from her breasts burning his skin through the thin material off his tee. Her mouth found his and she kissed him slowly, promisingly, her blunt teeth catching his lower lip and running across it gently. Her deft wands slid down to the waistband of his pants, hovering there for a painful second before sliding up underneath his shirt and coaxing it over his head.   
  
She paused for a moment her eyes wandering appreciatively over the pale expanse of skin revealed to her in the moonlight. Ever so slowly she leaned forward, her rough tongue tracing the outline of his flat male nipple, coaxing a hiss from him as his hands gripped her hips tighter. She slid down the length of his boy, her mouth sucking, tasting, nibbling on the skin before her. She breathed in the thin, salty, sheen of sweat, caressed the smooth texture of his skin, dipped her tongue into his navel and, finally, sank to her knees before him.   
  
* * *   
  
'The time is right, but I feel all wrong,   
  
It wastes away until it's done.   
  
The time is right, but I feel all wrong,   
  
It fades away and now you're gone.'   
  
It wasn't hard to feign the anger, or the betrayal, or the disgust. Riley stared down at the pictures that littered the desk of General Arthur MacGruder. Snapshot after snapshot laughed up at him. Everywhere he looked was her face, a radiant look on it, her mouth opened in ecstasy and, also in everyone of those pictures, was the cause for her pleasure: Hostile 17. No, it wasn't hard to pretend at all.   
  
He felt numb and slumped down further into his chair. At a time like this a man didn't have to worry about the ingrained army notion of proper posture. At a time like this, a man had other things on his mind. Revenge, he thought simply.   
  
A hard hand clamped consolingly on his shoulder, "It just wasn't something we felt right keeping from you. As herboyfriend and a valued member of the Initiative we felt you had a right to know."   
  
Inwardly Riley snorted derisively. The Initiative, he well knew, never did anything solely for the reason that it was the right thing to do; there was always a hidden agenda, "How many other people know about this?"   
  
Artie shrugged, "Myself, and the soldier who took the pictures of course. He's been moved to army detail and is awaiting deportation to another site. I didn't feel that information like this ought to be bandied about, better for everyone if this gets taken care of as quickly and quietly as possible. Gossip would only hinder the solution."   
  
Riley nodded as he absently studied the black and white photograph before him. The General was right, the quicker the problem was death with the better, "Have you given any thought as to how this should be dealt with, sir?"   
  
Artie squeezed Riley's shoulder and moved back around to the other side of the desk. He began studiously placing the pictures in the manila envelope on his desk, "Hostile 17 will be have to be recaptured."   
  
Riley nodded, "Of course."   
  
"I think it would be best," he placed the folder in the top drawer of his desk, "If you headed up the operation to regain the hostile."   
  
Riley nodded, "And the Slayer?"   
  
Artie shrugged, "Jut how human do you think a Slayer is?"   
  
"Slayers definitely have a supernatural origin."   
  
Artie nodded smugly, "Reason enough for us to contain her as well."   
  
Riley nodded, "More than enough reason."   
  
There was a long pause before Artie added, in slow measure words, "This will, of course, mean that you'll be expected to rejoin the Initiative."   
  
Bingo, Riley thought absently, a small smile gracing his face, "Of course."   
  
"Excellent, soldier," Artie let out a heart chuckle, "Excellent."   
  
'You're walking by,   
  
I'm standing by,   
  
Behind the light,   
  
By and by.' 


	16. In the Dark

'Hold me close and hold me fast,   
  
The magic spell you cast,   
  
This is la vie en rose.'   
  
"If only we could have known how ugly it was going to get."   
  
Spike pressed his palm against the cold window pane of the hotel room. The rain had stopped outside but the seedy little neighborhood was still shell shocked, holding it's breath, waiting for the next storm that they knew inevitably would come. He turned away from the scene of wet pavement and blinking red lights, back towards the faint outline of the man on the bed. His breathing was shallow, his wrists red from where they'd chafed against the thick ropes. Something like remorse flitted through Spike but he pushed it back and buried it in the depths of his psyche where he'd buried everything else. These days, since she'd been gone, he rarely felt anything. Convenient, he thought, when one's in his line of work. Besides, he reasoned, it wasn't as if the bloody bastard had spilled so much as a tear over what he'd put them through.   
  
Two more bottles of Jim Bean sat on the motel table. He moved to one and opened it easily, staring at the amber liquid as it sloshed about the inside of the bottle. He took a swig of it, to kill the pain that the memories always brought, "Of course, it's easy now to be altruistic. When all's said and done I can pretend that I would've changed it, would've given her up for her own sake. But I've never been like the poofter and I don't intend to start taking after him now."   
  
'When you kiss me heaven sighs,   
  
And though I close my eyes,   
  
I see la vie en rose.'   
  
His eyes fluttered closed and for a moment her image glowed brightly behind his eye lids before dissipating into inky blackness. He swallowed hard, his eyes opening to stare at the cracked yellow walls of the motel room. He could almost taste her on his mouth, even through all the alcohol; he could almost smell her scent beneath the stale air of the room, could almost feel the glide of her skin against his.   
  
Despite all the years that had passed she still haunted him, keeping her promise as surely as if she was still breathing.   
  
"I'm going to kill you, y'know that?" Spike turned to the man on the faded bedspread. He was still and sweating, a far cry from the composed machine that he'd first encounter, a lifetime away from the grand manipulator who's never known fear. Now he was just a man.   
  
"Twenty years ago," Spike paused to take another drink of the alcohol," Twenty years ago I might've cared. If it were twenty years ago, you might've seen tomorrow morning -- as far as things stand, you won't see past tonight."   
  
'When you press me to your heart,   
  
I'm in a world apart,   
  
A world where roses bloom.   
  
And when you speak, angels sing from above,   
  
Every day words seem to turn into love songs.'   
  
Spike flopped down in the flimsy motel chair and reached for his pack of Marlboros. He drew out the white cylinder slowly, testing it's weight between his fingers as he stared, sightless, at the shadows which gathered in the room and fell over onto him. He melted back into them, letting the darkness hides him, protect him; in the dark, he was invulnerable; in the dark, he wasn't Spike, he was a demon; in the darkness he wasn't any conscious impression at all, there were no scars, no fears, no desires, no shattered hopes and dreams, just one consuming mindless mission: revenge. In the dark, he could kill.   
  
When he spoke his voice was hoarse and flat as if it came from very far away, "Do you know what changed twenty years ago? What it was that made me the killer again?" Spike took a long drag on the cigarette, savoring the nicotine, the smell of burning paper and tar, the metallic taste in his mouth, "Twenty years ago you took away my soul."   
  
'Give your heart and soul to me,   
  
And life will always be la vie en rose.'   
  
* From William Shakespeare's "Othello" 3.4 v.160-163. 


	17. Rain on Glass

'Don't waste your touch, you won't feel anything,   
  
Or were you sent to save me?   
  
I've thought to much, you won't find anything,   
  
Worthy of redeeming.'   
  
She awoke to the sound of rain on glass. Buffy sighed, stretched and rolled over to snuggle deeper into Spike's still form. She sighed, inhaling his scent as her eyelids fluttered closed. Despite the rain, the air was still heavy and warm; the summer storm doing little to alleviate the intense heat of the past few months. Contentment spread across her body as Spike's arms tightened around her, for the first time in months she felt at peace, relaxed, fulfilled. How stupid, she mused, to think that she could live without this. Without him.   
  
Pushing herself up on one elbow she studied the man below her. In sleep his face was smooth, deceptively soft. It was hard to imagine that she was staring into the face of a demon as he slept, hard to imagine that the hands which caressed her so tenderly had killed; whether he was sleeping or awake it was hard for her to see anything but the man she loved -- the man who loved her back.   
  
Her fingers dipped down slowly, running across the cool planes of his mouth before settling on full mouth. Her head followed as she pressed her lips to his softly. Spike's eyes fluttered opened as she broke the contact and he smiled up at her, his fingers rising to caress her face, "Morning."   
  
"Morning."   
  
He pulled her head back down to his for another kiss, their tongues meeting as their mouths slanted and slid together intimately. His fingers languidly traced a path down the curve of her shoulder to her arm, eliciting a languid sigh from Buffy. Her hair flowed against his face as his other hand wrapped around the thick honeyed strands, deepening the kiss. They broke apart slowly, reluctantly, Spike's hand still placed tightly in her hair, "No regrets."   
  
She shook her head slightly, her hazel eyes meeting his cerulean ones, watching as the pupils and colors shifted. Like the sky, she realized, the sky before a storm. Like the ocean, "I think I might've died If I'd let you go."   
  
He kissed her again before pulling her tightly against his chest, "Rest assured, pet, I'm not going anywhere. I'm here for the long haul." He paused for a moment letting his words sink in, "Even if you don't want me."   
  
Silence followed his proclamation and Spike felt his thoughts drifting as the scent, feel, sound, of her surrounded him. His grip on her tightened and she squeezed him back, her small hands warm against his skin, "What are you going to do about Captain Cardboard?"   
  
Buffy's hands tightened against the skin on his chest quickly before loosening, her hazel eyes met his grey ones nervously, "It's over between us." Her head dropped back down to his chest, his silence filing her ears, "It has been for a long time."   
  
Spike nodded, "And the Scoobies?"   
  
Buffy shrugged, "They'll just have to get used to it. It's my life. Besides, "she paused to let her eyes meet Spike's again, "If they can't accept me the way I am then were they ever really worth it?"   
  
Spike exhaled and sat up slowly. Ignoring Buffy's questioning gaze he reached for his jeans and began pulling them on, "It's not going to be that easy, Slayer."   
  
Buffy frowned at his change of attitude, "It'll have to be." Buffy reached out and placed her hands on the sharp planes of his back, her warm fingers burning through his cold skin. Spike growled as her heat penetrated him, reminding him all to easily of his own coldness, his own deadness. Stiffly he pulled away from her and stood up to face the window. The grey sky loomed before him, the fat drops of rain beating relentlessly against the window. He placed his fingers along the pane of glass, felt the chill.   
  
Behind him he could hear the sounds of Buffy moving around and, for a moment, entertained the idea of turning around and going back to her bed and forgetting about all the concerns that plagued him. He pushed the thought away and, still fixated on the dismal scene before him, began, "It's not going to be that easy pet because they won't forget that I'm a monster."   
  
Silence reached him from her side of the room before Spike felt himself being pushed around by two small hands and slammed up against the wall, "And they won't forget that I'm the Slayer." She paused and loosened her grip, "If you think that I'm about to give you a get out of jail free card just because I have feelings for you than you're wrong. I'm not the same stupid girl that I was at sixteen. I won't make the same mistake twice. If you're really the monster that you say you are then you better leave now because, lover or not, ally or not, I will kill you."   
  
He growled again, his voice rough and angry as his eyes flashed yellow, "You can' take the monster out of the man, love. I'm not some poofter Nancy Boy here to be redeemed. I'm me Spike. I don't have a soul and I don't want one. And I'm not going to walk away for your own good, or mine." His face morphed into his demon mask as his hands grabbed at her wrists, pulling her against him, "You belong to me and I'll be damned if I'm leaving just because you think this is a fairytale and I'm your prince."   
  
Buffy moved closer to him, her mouth hovering a inch below his and she said forcefully, "What makes you think I want you redeemed? What makes you think that I don't want the monster and the man. You're mine and I want you just the way you are and if you decide to pull an Angel on me I'll stake you. I don't want Angel 2.0 -- I want you."   
  
There was nothing left for him to do but kiss her.   
  
* * *   
  
Riley cursed at the rain as he stared outside the mirrored windows of the Initiative's new compound. Rain meant that there would be little demonic activity tonight, which meant that there was little chance of him capturing either Buffy or Spike. To say that he was anxious to apprehend the lovers would be an understatement. He burned with the need to get his hands on them and exact their revenge. He would drink in their fear, their torment, their pain. Even now he could almost taste the heady exhilaration of his completed goal. He was close. Oh, so close.   
  
The city of Sunnydale lay sprawled before him, a small networking of houses and commercial buildings. There were few high rises in the city due to the small business district. The few that did exist were all clustered around the same area and housed mostly banks as well as the sparse, misplaced offices. Now the city was deserted, the hungry earth soaking up the warm rain through the cracked and marred concrete, the residents of Sunnydale basking in the small respite from the nerve wracking heat that had characterized the summer thus far.   
  
Every so often the lone car or pedestrian would scuttle by, umbrellas open and hoods drawn up as they went about their business. But, search as he might, the blonde duo never appeared. It was futile he knew, had known all day, to hope that it would be as simple a matter of walking out into the street and getting the matter over with. They wouldn't make it that easy on a man.   
  
The sound of footsteps in the empty corridor started Riley out of his reverie. He glanced up only to find Graham approaching him cautiously, "Hey."   
  
Graham nodded back, "Hey." Riley let his attention shift back to the grey, damp world outside the windows. He found himself acutely aware of Graham's presence beside him as he gazed out the window as well, "Heard you rejoined the force."   
  
Riley paused, his eyes sizing up the man before him before nodding carefully, "Change in plans."   
  
Graham nodded, "I didn't expect to see you back again -- not after the incident last year. Does Buffy know?"   
  
"Buffy's no longer a factor."   
  
Graham repressed a shiver at the steel in Riley's voice. Confusion clouded his mind, he had been sure that after their "talk" Buffy'd been more than willing to stay with Riley. In fact, he'd been surprised at how easily she'd acquiesced to his arguments for the farm boy. Graham's memory raced back to the memory of that day. He could still see her sitting there on her bedspread, she'd looked impossibly small for such a powerful woman, nodding at everything he'd said. If her eyes had been a little dull, her tone listless, her actions apathetic -- well, he hadn't exactly been expecting her to be elated. He was, after all, blackmailing her.   
  
How could it have gone so wrong?   
  
One thing was for certain, he definitely needed to find the blond Slayer and find out. He studied the hard set of Riley's jaw line, the cold set of his eyes, the tensions gripping his body. For all their sakes he needed to understand. 


	18. Something Heavier

'To break down, and cease all feeling,  
  
Burn now, what once was breathing,  
  
Reach out, and you may take my heart away.'  
  
If it was up to him he'd never leave her bed.   
  
The rain had slowed outside and the air was humid and hot with the rainfall. Beside him he could feel Buffy stretch and sigh as she turned into him, her greedy mouth finding his again and again. He gave her everything she asked for; his hands gliding effortlessly along the smooth expanse of her skin, while they teased and tormented, promised and pledged, with their mouths. Her breath was hot against his skin when they broke apart, his hands cool against her face as he brushed back the strands of her golden hair.  
  
She smiled at him, a light curve of her mouth that lit up her face and softened her eyes and his heart, "At some point today we're going to have to get up."   
  
His hand moved from her face to her shoulder to the soft mound of her breast. He squeezed and she gave a low moan, her eyes drifting closed as her mouth opened in pleasure. He raised his head to nibble on the edge of her ear, "Or we could stay here." His mouth found hers again, drawing her into a slow kiss. Her mouth was sweet above him, her soft hands stroking his chest, fingering the two scars on his neck while her legs parted around him.  
  
Her heat was delicious and he slid in easily, a low groan escaping from his lips as she began to move, dragging him deeper inside until only she and her heat existed for him. He could smell her all around him, taste her on his tongue, feel her everywhere and still it wasn't enough. He needed, wanted, more. When she shattered he followed calling out her name, clutching her desperately, kissing her like there was no tomorrow.  
  
* * *  
  
Something was definitely wrong Graham concluded as he walked down the damp streets. He winced at the throb in his shoulder, rolling it inexpertly in hopes of relieving the ache. If possible, it felt worse. The ache in his shoulder was just one of the many minor injuries that peppered his body after today's training session. All of them were inflicted by Riley.   
  
He wasn't the only one damaged from the session, at least half of the Initiative had taken it's turn against Riley, only to find itself unprepared for the level of ferocity aimed at them. As a rule, training sessions were kept light; soldiers held back when facing other soldiers. Today Riley had abandoned that rule, broken it in two, Graham thought grimly as he turned the corner into the residential corner or Sunnydale. He'd been like a one man army and Graham was more than sure that it wasn't his fellow soldiers Riley saw during sparring but Buffy and Spike.  
  
It wasn't that Riley didn't have a right to be angry, Graham could only imagine that he'd react much the same way if he'd been in Riley's position, but the whole day Riley had seemed less like a man and more like the hostiles they faced every night. His former friend exuded hatred which he barely hid beneath an icy veneer. There was no getting through to him and when he'd faced the soldiers today he'd faced them with every intention to inflict as much pain on them as possible. It was as if he was determined to make everyone hurt as much as he did; make them hurt worse even.  
  
It just wasn't healthy. Graham was sure of that at least, as sure as he could be about anything now when it came to the commando. If anyone could get through to Riley it would be Buffy, she was his best hope.   
  
* * *  
  
Riley tightened the straps of his gear as he eyed the slowing rain. It looked as if his luck had changed after all. The soldiers passed around him warily, more than a few spotting mottled bruises from the earlier training session. Riley ignored them; it was better to be feared than loved -- love led you to nothing but betrayal. Fear on the other hand, fear could be molded into a powerful tool. Yes, it was much better this way.  
  
Aimlessly he checked his gun, a pointless exercise since he knew it was completely loaded and ready, he'd made sure of it on his return. It was packed with enough tranquilizers to stop and elephant or, in his case, a rogue Slayer and her blonde demon lover. Riley snorted in disgust.  
  
In part, he supposed, he'd brought it upon himself by assuming that someone like Buffy Summers, a Slayer so obviously and intrinsically tied to the occult, could possibly be capable of a normal, human, relationship. Idiotic, really, that, despite his training, he hadn't been able to see her for what she really was: a hostile just like the rest of them. Granted, he conceded, there were parts of her that were more than undeniably human and she did express a range of emotions that were supposed to be nonexistent in other hostiles.   
  
The problem though wasn't with her ability to feel, Riley snorted, she'd proved just how much she was capable of feeling, and not feeling, in the graveyard that night. Like remorse, he thought bitterly, or guilt for what she did to him. She didn't seem to have an abundance of either of those two qualities. Passions though, or love, Riley felt bitterness rising up in him as pictures the two of them locked in their embrace as she opened up to that -- that! -- demon in ways she'd never allowed herself to open up to him. She had love in spades but not for him.  
  
"Soldier," Riley righted himself as he caught sight of the man before him.  
  
Executing a perfect salute Riley schooled his features into the perfect mask of army discipline, it would not do for the General to know that he wasn't fooled by his façade of fatherly concern, "General."  
  
McGruder smiled inwardly at the specimen before him. He had the makings of a great soldier, it was a pity, after all the world he'd gone through to get him back into the fold, that he was going to have to turn things around the way he was. Still, he reminded himself, it wasn't as if the soldier wouldn't have his uses. Already he was proving himself an easily maneuvered tool, "You will have command of squadron fourteen tonight." Lowering his voice MacGruder eased an inch closer to the young man, "You know what to do."  
  
Riley nodded, his finger tapping his gun suggestively, "I am aware of my duties."  
  
MacGruder nodded, "Excellent soldier."  
  
* * *  
  
Buffy let out a small laugh as Spike's arms wrapped around her, pushing her against the front door. He smirked down at her, amusement lighting his eyes and behind that, the hungry, passionate, look that she'd grown so familiar with over the last couple of days, "Gotcha."  
  
Buffy smiled up at him from beneath her lowered lashes, her hazel eyes darkening as a small pout began to form on her face, "Only because I let you."  
  
Spike stared down at her at mock sternness, his gaze slipping from the depths of her eyes to the sight of her protruding lip, "Tsk, tsk. Haven't you heard that it's poor form for a Slayer to give herself up to her enemies so easily?"  
  
Buffy shrugged and pressed against him, her voice lowering to a seductive note as her own gaze settled on the smooth stretch of his mouth, "Maybe I like being captured." Spike let out a low growl as the lightness of the situation quickly dissipated to be replaced something heavier. Buffy leaned into him, her mouth teasing his with a warm promise, when she spoke he could feel every word she said, "Aren't you going to eat me up?"  
  
His mouth met hers in a hard kiss that sent shivers down her back. She sighed and molded her body more tightly to his familiar form, her hands going around his neck as her hips rocked suggestively against his. She felt Spike tense and then relax under her ministrations, the large bulge settling comfortingly on her lower stomach. The tip of his tongue brushed against her lips, seeking entrance, and she granted it, taking him inside her. One wayward hand slipped from his shoulder to his chest, caressing the unrelenting muscles there before sliding across his abdomen to tease the space above his belt. Spike's hands tangled in her hair, as he let out a low groan, drawing her deeper into the kiss.   
  
The sound of knocking broke them apart. Spike growled against her throat as he forced his desires under his control once more, "I'm going to bloody kill whoever it is." Buffy nodded and giving him one last chaste peck on the mouth pulled apart from him reluctantly. Putting on her best, 'no-really-you-didn't-bother-me-but-go-away' face she opened the door slowly only to have reluctant surprise and wariness slip onto her face. Behind her she felt Spike tense up, "What are you doing here?" 


	19. Long Shadows Across His Eyes

'Imperfect cry, scream in ecstasy,   
  
So what befalls the flawless?   
  
Look what I've built, it shines so beautifully,   
  
Now watch as it destroys me.'   
  
"So basically what you're telling me is that Riley's got a bug up his ass and I'm supposed to magically remove it somehow?"   
  
Graham fidgeted nervously in the light from the foyer, trying very hard not to let his uneasiness show. Gingerly, he nodded, "It's your fault anyway." The Slayer's eyes widened in disbelief and disgust and Graham cringed inwardly. He hadn't meant for it to come out that childish but, standing here in front of an immovable Slayer and Hostile 17 was quickly grating on his composure, "That's not how I meant it to sound."   
  
Spike snorted and rolled his eyes, one pale hand coming up to rest idly against the Slayer's shoulder. Graham's eyes drifted towards the hand and the skin that it covered. For a few moments he watched mesmerized as the pale hand slipped around the sun kissed shoulder to sweep along the tanned column of her neck and, finally, bury itself in the golden strands of her hair. He looked up to find the Hostile's eyes fixated on him, his smirk growing broader. Deliberately he leaned forward and dropped a kiss on the bare expanse of the Slayer's shoulder; she shivered, her eyes drifting close for half of a moment; Graham recoiled as if struck.   
  
"I can't believe you chose that -- that -- thing over Riley." Despite his embarrassment and nervousness his disgust made it out of his mouth, infusing every syllable with derision. Buffy's eyes narrowed, the hazel flashing dangerously. Behind her Spike stiffened, a trace of yellow marring the cerulean of his eyes. Graham swallowed and clenched his fists to refrain from taking an involuntary step backwards. Someone, he reasoned, had to say it sooner or later. Might as well be him.   
  
Buffy took a step toward him and, despite his resolution not to let his fear show, he took a small step backwards.   
  
"First," she began angrily, "You come here to blackmail me with photographs of me and Spike. What I want to know is what kind of sick pervert are you that you go around collecting that stuff? I mean, gross much? Obviously you're not getting enough if you have to stalk around graveyard taking pictures of couples. And, to top it off, the peeping tom tries to play matchmaker by forcing me to continue a relationship that is so dead it makes Spike look like poster boy for the living."   
  
Graham shook his head, "I told you I didn't take the pictures! I found them on the desk of General Arthur --"   
  
"And now," Buffy plowed on through his protests, "You show up on my doorstep demanding, yet again, that I place aside my own desires and needs to placate Riley's ego? And to top it off you insult me and my relationship with Spike. No one asked you to come here, so if you can't accept that we love each other, demon or not, then you can get out."   
  
Angrily she turned on her heel and stalked back to Spike who brushed a comforting hand across the tense line of her shoulders, her face softened as she looked up at him. With a sigh she uncrossed her arms and brought her hands to the place where his jeans rested on his hips. Spike's hands swept through her hair, pulling her closer so that he could place a kiss on her forehead. Buffy's eyes drifted closed with another sigh, the hint of a smile coloring her lips.   
  
Spike's eyes moved from Buffy's to pin Graham beneath his glare, "You best be going now. Go on, toddle home to Captain Cardboard, would you?" With that he turned back towards the Slayer, who leaned into his embrace with another warm smile. For a moment Graham stood staring at the couple in disbelief but no matter how he tried to convince himself that what he was seeing couldn't be real the hard facts remained: they were in love. It was so obvious that it stunned him. It was easy to convince himself before that it had been some terrible mistake when he'd seen the picture. After all, sex didn't necessarily equate love. But, seeing them together now, he couldn't hide the truth from his eyes.   
  
Graham turned away from the couple and started toward the door. Behind him he could hear Buffy let out a long sigh as she moved deeper into Spike's embrace, oblivious to the Commando's departure. For a second Graham hovered over the doorknob, indecision and confusion marring his face before he turned around to find the hostile watching him, "You really love her, don't you?"   
  
Spike felt Buffy stiffen in his arms as she drew in a deep breath, waiting for his answer as anxiously as the commando. Spike nodded, once, his eyes never straying from Graham's, "More than anything.'   
  
Graham nodded back, swallowing, his gaze shifting from the vampire to the dark world outside the door, "Riley -- be careful of him. He's not like himself. He's angry and now, with the Initiative at his back, there's no telling what he'll do." With one final glance at the couple Graham closed the portal and started the long walk home in the night.   
  
* * *   
  
The young commando's in Riley's group hadn't thought it was possible for Riley's face to grow any colder than it already was, but as they watched Graham walk out of the house on Revello Drive Riley's expression turned from ice to something harder, darker and infinitely more hateful. "This," he said through clenched teeth, "complicates things." He watched a moment longer as Graham's tall figure disappeared around the street corner. Behind him he could hear the nervous shifting of the commandos. Their unease radiated off of them in waves; he had them frightened and that, he decided, was something he could definitely use to his advantage.   
  
He turned back to face the group, who instantly righted themselves, their faces expressionless as they waited for his commands. No matter how uneasy he made them or how unconventional his orders were, Riley knew that they would follow them through. MacGruder had made sure of it. Riley smiled at them, a thin stiffening of the lips that tended to resemble a grimace more than anything else, "Change of plans, boys. We've got a traitor in our midst."   
  
The soldiers eyed each other warily as Riley's proclamations sunk in. Raising his rifle he pointed in the direction Graham had gone in, "It's time our good friend Graham learned what brotherhood and the Initiative are all about."   
  
* * *   
  
She kissed him softly, his lips gliding softly over hers as they leaned against the staircase in the hallway. The night was quiet around them as they embraced in the semi-darkness. Buffy sighed as his hand slid around the curve of her face, his long fingers tangling in the threads of her hair, his mouth slanting across hers slowly as he drew out the kiss until she was on the verge of sobbing from the sensations. Her nipples ached beneath the thin fabric of her cotton tee and she could feel the familiar wetness pooling between her legs.   
  
Restlessly, her hand slid from the white pillar of his neck to the softened of his hair, to the harsh midnight planes of his face. Her nails dug into the skin of his shoulders before scraping lightly down his back. Spike shivered, his other hand coming down to the cup the aching mound of one breast. Buffy broke the kiss to draw in a deep breath, her back arching involuntarily as his thumb circled the tight bud, teasing the sensitive skin into a frenzy. Softly, he brushed the pad of his finger across her nipple as her head fell back, her eyes half closed as her mouth parted in ecstasy. He continued to caress her there, drawing from her the small whimpers and sighs of her pleasure. Her arousal surrounded him and he slid beneath it's relentless force, losing himself in the feeling of touching, possessing, pleasing her.   
  
* * *   
  
He was being followed.   
  
Sticking his hands into his pocket, he fondled the sharp blade of his pocketknife as well as the smooth wood of his customary stake. No matter what the threat was he felt more than ready to meet it. But first, he plotted, first I have to draw it out. Adopting an unassuming air he slipped into the dark and deserted park. He kept his pace slow and measured as he made his way up the gentle slope of the grassy hill that rose before him. The smell of wet grass assaulted his nose and the moon hung heavy and yellow in the sky above him. For a moment, Graham paused atop the grassy mound, absorbing the moonlight, before continuing down the other side.   
  
The faint sound of rustling reached his ears and Graham gently eased the knife out of his pocket and flipped the blade open. Whatever it was, it was getting restless. Behind him he could hear the muffled sounds of footsteps and he tensed, preparing for battle. Without warning he turned around to face his enemy, his knife still hidden in his hand.   
  
Before him stood Riley, his normally boyish face hardened and cold as he surveyed Graham, "Graham."   
  
Graham swallowed nervously, his eyes scanning his surroundings carefully as he took in the heavy black gun that hung from Riley's arm, "Riley? What's going n?"   
  
Riley smiled coolly and raised the gun with a shrug, "Just taking care of business."   
  
Graham never even saw him pull the trigger.   
  
* * *   
  
'To break down, and cease all feeling,   
  
Burn now, what once was breathing,   
  
Reach out, and you may take my heart away.'   
  
Spike's mouth found hers again, his hands sliding beneath her shirt; her hands twisting his. He parted for a moment, long enough to tug the fabric over her head and for her to do likewise with him. Her hands touched his gently, gliding along the expanse of his chest and stomach like a whisper. She kissed the side of his neck, the spot where his shoulder and throat joined, and then took one of his nipples in her mouth. Spike groaned and threaded his fingers through her hair as her mouth traced a trail from one nipple to the other and down his chest.   
  
Gently, Spike pulled her back up to him, bringing her mouth to his, her breasts against the hard planes of his chest. She whimpered at the contact, pressed closer against him, desperation seizing her as they kissed, touched, melded. Her jeans slid to the floor and his followed. Her hands traced him, worshipped him, memorized him and the marble sandpaper feel of his cool skin. Her eyes fluttered opened as they kissed, as he turned around and pushed her against the wall.   
  
His were a storm as his hand found her wetness and traced her throbbing bud. His lashes cast long shadows across his eyes as his mouth parted to taste the skin of her neck, the fullness of a breast, the curve of her belly and the apex of her thigh. His needless breath was warm against her; such an odd thing, she thought, for someone who's body is so cold; and then his mouth found her center and all thought faded away under him.   
  
* * *   
  
Graham stumbled as the bullet lodged in his shoulder. His vision blurred as the ground slipped beneath his feet. He fell numbly to one knee, one hand clutching the wound where he could feel the heavy red river of his blood trickling out beneath his palm, "What the fuck?" Riley's boot connected with his face, sending Graham sprawling on the wet grass, mixing dew with his blood. He struggled past the pain, fighting away the blackness that hovered on the edge of his vision. Rough hands grabbed him and pushed him up where he swayed aimlessly as a punch connected with his chin, sending him to his knees.   
  
Riley stood before him, his gun slung casually over his shoulder, "Why did you go see her today Graham?"   
  
Graham opened his mouth to spit, "To find out what happened --"   
  
Riley's fist connected with his head again, "What happened was that she was fucking a hostile?" When Graham didn't reply Riley knelt down before the soldier, "Was she fucking you too, buddy? is that it? Is that why you turned?"   
  
Graham shook his head and swayed, his fingers tightening around the handle of his knife, "You're crazy, man."   
  
Riley smiled and hit him again, "I hope she was good enough to die for because that's all that's left for you now."   
  
Graham shook his head and swayed forward, gathering all his strength as he looked Riley in the eye, "I'm sorry, Riley." A surprised look crossed Riley's face but before he could react Graham lunged at him, knocking him backwards and sending them rolling down the rest of his hill. He brought his knife up only to have Riley grab his wrist. Graham kicked, the knife falling as Riley's grip faltered barely missing an eye as it slashed across his face. Riley let out a howl of indignation and twisting violently, knocked the knife out of Graham's hand. Desperately, Graham brought his hands down to Riley's face, hitting the soldier as he scrambled upward, heaving two violent kicks into Riley's side. Behind him he could hear the rustle of the squadron moving in on them. A bullet whizzed past his ear and he took of running, desperate to reach Revello Drive before it was too late.   
  
* * *   
  
It was all about the closeness, the perfect intimacy as he slid home, his hands meeting hers, their mouths coming together in a shared breath as they moved, swallowed, tasted, slipped inside each other. They were intimately aware of each and every touch, each stroke, each whispered sigh as they joined again and again in the time old reunion. The beat of Buffy's heart was staccato under Spike's hand, her breath moist against his mouth, her eyes half closed beneath the golden crescent moons of her lashes.   
  
She sunk into him, mouthing words against his ear, whispering promises against his chest, tracing I love yous against the softness of his mouth. He followed her in her explorations, his face rippling against the column of her neck, his voice low as he answered her call, brought her to her peak and opened her like a flower. He pledged himself in every stroke, every kiss, in the sharp prick of his teeth tracing her skin as her head bent to the side and she offered herself to him.   
  
She fragmented when he took it, pulled her inside him even as she climbed in his skin, a thousand broken images and impressions and sounds floating through her as he drank, claimed, possessed her. His climax followed hers down the deep mazes of her mind, the unlocked doors of her blood.   
  
When ti was finished they still stood together, entwined in the hallway, their breath coming hard and forced. They kissed softly, carefully, their eyes wide open in the embrace as he slipped from inside her, whispered, "I love you" in her ear. Heard her reply before she stiffened, pulled away, her eye's glancing toward the door, "Something's not right."   
  
He nodded, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck rising in anticipation. Quickly she pulled away from him, reaching for her clothes as she threw his at him, hurriedly dressing to met the impending storm that they knew they would have to weather. She opened the door before the first knock even finished, closing it rapidly as a bruised and bleeding Graham stumbled in and fell to the floor, a single name escaping from his mouth as he bled all over her wooden floor and the denim of her jeans, "Riley." 


	20. From the Wound

'I left it all behind, and never said goodbye   
  
I left it all behind, and never said goodbye   
  
I left it all behind, and never said goodbye   
  
I left it all to die'   
  
"Help me get him to the kitchen," Buffy slipped one arm underneath Graham's shoulder, lugging him to the floor as she and Spike maneuvered him through the narrow hallway into the kitchen. Shakily, Graham balanced against the counter, his eyes shot in pain as the wound in his shoulder throbbed violently. He was vaguely aware of the sound of running water and then the quick tear of fabric as his shirt was removed from him, exposing his wound in the overly bright light.   
  
Spike shook his head as he studied the network of thin spidery black lines that spread out over Graham's chest from the wound, "Poison."   
  
Carefully, he moved Graham's hand so Buffy could wash away the caked blood and pus that decorated the opening, "We need to get him to a doctor."   
  
"There's nothing we can do for him, love," he said, lowering his voice as he eyed the semi-conscious commando, "It's been in his system for too long. He's got an hour left at most."   
  
Buffy shook her head as she reached for the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and began gently dabbing it on the wound, "You can't know that."   
  
Spike let out a heavy sigh as he watched the soldier twitch under Buffy's ministrations. A fine sheen of sweat coated his body and he skin had developed a ghastly dull color like uncooked dough. It wasn't his appearance though that let Spike know that there was no saving him. All around him he could hear the erratic, frenzied, forced thudding of his heart. A cacophony of percussions that slowed and faded as the seconds ticked past. Spike reached out and laid a hand on Buffy's shoulder, offering her the comfort of his touch, "His heart's weak, love. I can hear it. He's going."   
  
Buffy turned to face him, the moisture in her eyes apparent as her chin hardened and her shoulders squared, "I can't just let him die, Spike. Not while there's even the smallest chance …" Spike gathered her close, felt her shaking against his chest as he stroked her hair. She sniffled and pulled away from him, her eyes turning to Graham, "We have to help him."   
  
Spike let out a deep breath, before nodding reluctantly, "Let me get my keys, it'll go faster if we take the DeSoto."   
  
Buffy smiled, a thin watery upturning of the corners of her mouth, "Thank you."   
  
Spike shook his head and stared at the still figure, the heart beat growing quieter and slower in his ears, "Don't thank me yet pet, it's only a long shot."   
  
* * *   
  
Riley smiled as he watched the three figures emerge from the house. Graham hung numbly between Slayer and vampire as they made the mad dash down the block toward where Spike stored his car as quickly as they could. He'd known she wouldn't let Graham die. Despite how twisted she was she had an unmovable sense of duty to saving others. Must be the human part of her, he mused.   
  
With a sharp gesture he beckoned his squadron closer. The men eyed him nervously, the wariness apparent in their eyes as they listened to him detail his plan. Even though he had explained the need to eliminate Graham firing against one of their own, and a higher ranking soldier at that, didn't sit easy with them. He had to be careful with this lot -- despite their orders they could turn against him very easily. As long as they helped him take out Buffy and Hostile 17, he thought cynically, they could do whatever they liked. So long as they did it after his mission was accomplished.   
  
* * *   
  
Buffy glanced around furtively as she loaded Graham in the back of the DeSoto. She climbed in after him, checking his vitals for any sign of improvement. She'd hoped that after cleansing the would he'd begin to come around but the infection had shown no sign of abating and the long black lines across his chest had not only darkened but thickened, moving closer to his heart. It made her sick to look at them, sick to look at him in general. His hand was clammy in hers, his breathing labored as Spike started the car and headed in the direction of the hospital. Despite her earlier confrontations with Graham she prayed that he would heal; he was dying in a horrible way.   
  
Spike settled in the front of the car and turned the key, the ignition instantly sputtering to life. Despite it's age the DeSoto maneuvered speedily through the streets of Sunnydale to the hospital. There were about a block from it when a figure clothed I black stepped out in front of the car, hefting a large gun on his shoulder. Spike muttered a curse as he swung the DeSoto, the bullet ringing out into the empty night streets as the car swerved. Graham gasped for breath, his eyes wide and wild as Buffy tried to calm him. Spike turned the car again at the sight of a second figure, glancing worriedly at the backseat where Buffy sat tense and white, her hands gripping the seat tightly, "Hang on, love."   
  
His foot pushed down on the accelerator, sending the DeSoto rushing forward towards the commando who fired again, the bullet going through the windshield and missing Spike by an inch. He heard Buffy duck as she pushed Grahams down, her hands braced on the back of the seat as he hit the commando sending him upward into the air before he hit the ground with a sickening thud. Once again the sound of a gunshot rang out and Spike cursed as his car veered sharply, the sound of his tire going followed rapidly by the other three. The car ground to a dead start. Through the rearview mirror he could see the commando, now flanked by several others, moving towards them, guns raised. He cast a wary look back at Graham who lay open mouthed on the car seat, his breath erratic. Buffy looked up from him as she dug under the seat, finally unearthing two long knives. She followed his gaze back to Graham, "It's too late now. He's gone into shock."   
  
She tossed Spike a knife and crawled into the front seat next to him, "At the very least we can kill the ones who did this to him." He nodded and watched as she turned away to open the passenger side door. For a moment time stilled for him as he watched her pull the handle towards her. He couldn't place where the panic came from, the overpowering worry that made him place his hand on her arm, bringing her attention back to him. Silence filled the space between them as they drank each other in, recognized the same kaleidoscopic cacophony of emotion in each other's eyes. He pulled her close to him, kissed her, breather her breath for an instant, tasted her soul, and reluctantly let her go, "I love you."   
  
She smiled, something more than sadness darkening her face as she looked at him, "I love you too." There was only time for one last kiss before they opened the doors and went to meet the enemy.   
  
* * *   
  
Riley smiled as he watched the two of them leave the car, their weapons glinting in the dull street light. For a moment a dull pang of regret made it's way through his heart as he watched her approach, beautiful and defiant, "Just like I remember." But it died with his whisper.   
  
With a curt motion of his head he urged the others forward, his eyes avoiding the fallen soldier on the ground. The price of war, he thought bitterly as he raised his gun and took aim at his ex-girlfriend. For a moment their eyes met across the expanse of the asphalt battlefield, recognition widening the hazel orbs as her fist tightened on the hilt of her weapon as she continued her approach. His finger tightened on the trigger, anticipation and adrenaline flowing through his body as he pulled the trigger.   
  
She hit the floor and rolled with the blast, coming up in a graceful fighting stance. The hostile roared, his face shifting into game face as he lurched forward, the commandos firing, the bullets missing and hitting, barely slowing him down as he raised his knife and brought it through the stomach of the first soldier, his fist simultaneously rising to meet the unsuspecting face of a second before coming up to his head as he let out a howl of pain. The chip, Riley realized with glee. He turned and aimed his weapon, his finger tightening on the trigger for only a moment before he hit the ground, the shot going awry as the gun clattered from his hands to land on the cement beside him.   
  
He sputtered, his vision turning red with rage as he raised his gaze to the defiant features of his ex. A twisted smile broke out across his face as he surveyed the gleaming blade in her hands. He raised himself up on his elbows, his blue eyes twinkling in the semi-darkness as he spoke, "Come to do me in?" Her foot shot out, hitting him squarely in the chest. He groaned, the flesh tearing beneath the heel of her boot, "So we'll just get right down to the heavy-handed torture then. You always did lack finesse."   
  
Her foot moved, connecting with his ribs and sending him rolling a few paces away. He stood shakily, clutching his side, his eyes meeting hers as she faced him, chin raised as she stood waiting, "What's the matter Riley? Not so brave now that you're facing the real thing? You always were half a man," she paused, her eye sliding suggestively up and down his body before returning to meet his, a wry smile on her lips, "Both in bed and out."   
  
He frowned, his anger growing as he took a step forward, "You loved it. I made you scream --"   
  
She laughed at him, short and broken, her eyes never leaving his as she shrugged her shoulders, "Oh, Riley, yes, please -- make me uncomfortable for, what was your record time?, fifteen minutes? You were minute man personified."   
  
'I saw it's birth, I watched it grew   
  
I felt it change me,   
  
I took the life, I ate it slow   
  
Now it consumes me'   
  
With a snarl of rage Riley launched himself at her, his fist shooting out only to meet air as she ducked, bringing her hands down into his stomach and her knee up into his face. He stumbled backward, a small trickle of blood seeping out of the corner of his mouth onto his army grins. Slowly, he brought his hand up to his mouth and wiped at it, the red staining his skin. He scoffed, his eyes meeting hers, "Not bad, Buffy."   
  
She ignored him, "You killed Graham."   
  
He shrugged, "He was a traitor. He deserved to die."   
  
She shook her head in disgust, "Give it up, Riley. You're no better than the monsters you fight."   
  
"Really? The same ones you fuck?"   
  
Her foot launched out, her heel connecting with his stomach and sending him back a few feet. Without wasting any time she launched herself at him. Out of the corner of her mind she was aware of Spike as her fended off the remaining three commandos. Not bad, she thought dimly as one commando's punch missed the vampire and took out his buddy instead, for someone with a chip. For a moment it seemed as if they had the upper hand when Buffy heard Spike yelling her name, she turned in time to see one of the commando's fire at her. She ducked, hitting the ground, the dart embedding itself in her shoulder.   
  
Undaunted she struggled to raise herself, her body hitting her ground as her body went numb. In the background she could hear Spike yelling as he tore into the commandos. His screams of rage turning into howls of pain as they tackled him to the floor. Her eyes turned upwards to where Riley stood, a smile on his face as his foot lashed out, hitting her hard twice in her ribs. She sputtered, her vision blurring as she was hauled to her feet. She stumbled fell, was half dragged over to Spike who hung limp between the two commandos. The third handed Riley his gun.   
  
For a moment he stood contemplating it before giving the others a small smile. With measured steps he made his way over to the DeSoto. He paused for a moment before opening the door to the driver's side. Sprawled on the backseat lay Graham, still breathing. His eyes opened and found Riley's, he groaned and tried to turn away as Riely hefted the gun and stared down at his fallen comrade. He shot the gun without looking.   
  
Slowly he left the car, his gun back in it's holster, his eyes a little emptier as he surveyed his captives, "Let's get them back to the compound. General Arthur MacGruder has been waiting for them for a long time." 


	21. In Places He Couldn't See

'I … break down and cease all feeling,   
  
Burn now, what once was breathing,   
  
Reach out, and you may take my heart away.'   
  
It was a blur; floating, fuzzy, a kind of dream with too bright lights. They wore white, bright like the light, like the tile walls and the tile floor, like the glass and the pain that tore through him. There was no sound, only a disorientating numbness, a lack of awareness, a lack of memory and scent. There was only the white. He wanted to speak, but there was cotton in his mouth and his tongue had swelled up like a dying man's. They poked him when he struggled, their metal needles armed with green liquid erasing his motor control, leaving him a vegetable on a plate as they cut, cut, cut, in places he couldn't see. Their hands were warm on his cold skin through the silicone gloves and he knew it wasn't right. Warmth didn't belong in a place like this. They should only be cold, cold, cold; like the grave, like him. He closed his eyes and sank into darkness.   
  
In a way, she was luckier. The only thing that greeted her was silence, darkness, the loss of self. She floated, weightless and wanton, traversing the mazes of her mind, delving deeper and deeper into the things that were hidden there. She slid into memory like a dream. This one with the red headed girl; that one with the aging man with his cultured accent and tweed suits. There was one with a boy with floppy black hair and brown eyes that sparked another, older, thought of the one who stood alone. The one who left. Well they all did didn't they? She liked the ones with him, with his hair like light and his artist's fingers, the best. He was cool, solid. He made her feel and it was okay that he hurt her, okay that she hurt him because it was all worth it for the pleasure. All worth it for the pain. All worth it for the three words that reverberated in her brain as she sunk deeper and deeper into oblivion.   
  
* * *   
  
"Well done, Finn," MacGruder acknowledged with a small tilt of his head.   
  
Riley smiled thinly as he stared down at the containing rooms from the glass cell in the ceiling above, "They've only just begun to pay."   
  
MacGruder paused, studying the hash profile of the young man before him. Once, that face had possessed the softness of youth an innocence, a remnant and reminder of his days on the farm on Iowa before Sunnydale and the Initiative and Buffy Summers betrayed him and took it all away. There was little left of the boy he had been in the man he was becoming. MacGruder shrugged and turned to face the glass, observing Riley out of the corer of his eye as he half-watched the two inert figures in their cells, "Don't worry, son. It's only just begun."   
  
It was too bad, really, what he would have to do.   
  
Riley smiled, grimaced really, "Good. I want them to hurt. I want dying to be a blessing to them."   
  
* * *   
  
Soldier 18769 watched the General and Riley carefully out of the corner of his eyes. He knew exactly what they were seeing in the cells below them, the death-like form of Hostile 17 and beautiful, bruised figure of his consort; the Slayer, a woman, daughter, friend, human; and he was responsible for putting her there. The thought made him want to retch.   
  
This wasn't what he'd thought he'd be doing when he first joined the Initiative. He'd signed on for the chance to serve his country, humanity -- to protect those like Buffy Summers. It didn't matter what Riley had told the group as they'd left to take them in, he hadn't been convinced then and he wasn't now. As far as he knew, she'd never killed anybody in cold blood, but Riley had. It's made him more than a little happy to see her kick his ass. He'd almost hoped that they'd win, only the knowledge that the vampire wouldn't hesitate to kill him if they didn't subdue the pair had stopped him from leaving the scene.   
  
Still, he thought, as he watched MacGruder and Riley walk off together down the long corridor, perhaps there's some way to make up for what he'd done.   
  
* * *   
  
Buffy awoke slowly, blinking in the bright light that shone unceasingly don on her. She let out a weak groan, the left side of her face feeling swollen and sore. Her lips were dry and chapped. Weakly, she struggled to rise off her position on the floor, her arms shook as she pushed herself into a sitting position, her legs lay sprawled and numb before her. At least she still had her own clothes, she noted derisively, it was a shred of dignity but at least it gave her something to cling to, some sort of pale hope.   
  
She had to find a way out of here before they took even that from her too. But first, Spike.   
  
Ignoring her protesting limbs she pushed herself to her feet and balancing against the padded wall, willed her eyes to adjust quickly to the blinding light. Finally, when she felt that she could stand on her own without toppling to the floor she turned slowly around, examining the six by six containment cell that she was held in. Two of the walls were covered in the thick padded material that she balanced against now, below her the floor was also padded. Like being in a psych ward, she thought, it just reeks of Maggie Walsh.   
  
What caught her attention were the other two walls, both of which were constructed of large panes of glass. One peered out into a long gray corridor, illuminated by fluorescent lighting. She quickly disregarded that, her attention quickly riveted to the other wall and the small cell that it revealed. The room was also filled with the harsh bright light but she ignored it, her eyes drawn to the slumped figure that lay in a small heap on the floor. Spike. Her heart gave a sharp jolt as the realization hit her. Quickly she pushed away from the wall, her legs shaking as she made the trek over to the pane of glass.   
  
She pressed her hands against the glass, her eyes roving over his unconscious form desperately, looking for any signs of abuse. His shirt was ripped and torn, the skin beneath the tears, was red and angry, the scars healing up even as she watched. His complexion was a deadly pale, his eyes hollow and sunken in. His mouth, normally so sensual, was split in two, the lips white and, like hers, dry and chapped. Blood, she thought frantically, he needs blood.   
  
She pounded on the glass, noting it's thickness as she called out his name, praying he would hear her. He stirred the third time she did, rolling onto his back as she called out again, his eyes fluttering open cautiously. "Buffy?" He questioned turning to face her, his face hardening as he took in the battered side of her face and the plate of glass that separated them from each other. She nodded as he cussed under his breath and began his way over to her. Gently, despite the weariness that engulfed him, he pressed his hand to the glass, "What did they do to you?"   
  
She managed a weak smile, "You don't look so hot yourself, mister." Her eyes though were serious as they met his, her teeth sucking nervously on her bottom lip, "We have to find a way out of here, Spike. Before they -- before they do whatever it is they've got planned to do."   
  
He nodded, cursing the glass which kept him from clutching her to him reassuringly, "Don't worry, love. We'll find a way."   
  
"Yea", a familiar voice piped in from the doorway, "You'll go in a dustpan and she'll go in a body bag."   
  
'Break down, and cease all feeling,   
  
Burn now, what once was breathing,   
  
Reach out, and you may take my heart away,   
  
Heart away' 


	22. So Badly Underestimated

'All around me are familiar faces   
  
Worn out places, worn out faces'   
  
The lack of feeling in her hands was the least of her problems, Buffy thought sourly as she sat tightly bound to the unyielding metal chair in the floor of her cell. On the other side of the glass, which they had oh so deliberately turned her to face, was Spike. He sat clad only in his jeans, the heavy black material a stark contrast to the icy whiteness of his skin and hair. He seemed to fade back into the blinding light and the stiffly padded walls, his icy blue eyes focused on hers.   
  
The doors to her cell slid open and she craned her neck around to see a solid, middle aged man step through the doors and into her cell. The other soldiers which crowded around her, quickly straightened and saluted, their eyes hardening under their commander's inspection. He finally nodded, giving them the single to return to normal and headed for her. Abruptly she turned away, her eyes staring straight ahead as he came to stand before her.   
  
He studied her as she stared beyond him into the cell where Spike was contained, his eyes narrowed as he watched the man suspiciously. MacGruder smiled gruffly, his hands clasped tightly behind his back as he roamed over the petite girl who sat before him, her chin jutting out rebelliously, her hazel eyes gazing past him into the room where the hostile, her lover he reminded himself, sat morosely. He was aware of Agent Finn beside him, a ball of frustration and hatred. He was more than eager to do away with the girl, impetuous and bloodthirsty. MacGruder frowned, once that would've made him the ideal soldier but now, with so much at stake, he was more of a liability than anything else.   
  
"And you must be Miss Summers."   
  
Buffy jumped at the gruff voice, her eyes hardening as they landed on Riley before meeting the eyes of the middle aged man before her. He was almost painfully nondescript, his proud bearing and graying hair giving him an air of authority. His blue eyes watched her interestedly, his heavily lined face without expression, "If I say no will you let me go?"   
  
A brief surge of surprise moved through him as he stared down at the younger woman. Most people in her place would have been in tears, begging to be released, promising anything for their life. Few would have responded with such sarcasm. Out of the corner of his eye he was aware of Riley moving, the man's beefy fist hitting the side of the girl's face so that her head turned, "That will be enough, Agent Finn." We want her alive, he thought irritably, how can he not see how valuable she is?   
  
He took a step forward, watching as Buffy opened her mouth experimentally, there was only a faint mark on the side of her face which was fading rapidly before his eyes. "Please excuse Agent Finn," he began carefully, "I am General Arthur MacGruder." Buffy nodded once, her shoulder's squaring as she crossed her legs, silently thanking whoever was watching over her that the soldiers in the cell had so badly underestimated her that they left her legs free.   
  
"Undoubtedly," he began again, impervious to the danger of her silence, "you are wondering why you are here."   
  
"The thought," she said, noting the positions of the soldiers who stood around her cell, "might've entered my mind."   
  
Riley moved forward again but MacGruder stayed him with his hand and a warning nod, "The truth is, Miss Summers, that you are a liability, one that we can no longer allow to roam unchecked."   
  
"So what," she began sarcastically, "You just plan to keep me in here until I wither up and die? Or will you experiment on me too?"   
  
MacGruder shrugged and moved away from her, the two guards at her side moving slightly closer, "The choice is entirely up to you Miss Summers. From what I can tell from our recent interlude you would be very … pleasurable company to have."   
  
"And what if I choose option three?"   
  
MacGruder paused and turned to look at her, "There is no option three."   
  
Buffy smiled uncrossing her legs and placing her feet firmly on the ground pushed herself upwards into standing position. She swung around quickly, smacking the chair hard against the sides of the two soldier's nearest her, the formerly sturdy wooden legs of the chair splintering and releasing her hands from behind her. She turned as another soldier advanced towards her warily, her fist connecting with his face as he raised his gun, sending him slamming into the glass wall. She watched surprised as he bounced off, not even a crack appearing in the glass. Her surprise didn't last long as Riley lunged at her, his beefy body knocking her against a wall. Summoning up all her strength she pushed him back, her fist connecting with his face, her knee with his solar plexus, forcing him to the ground. With a final punch to the face he hit the ground. The other three soldiers lay stunned on the ground, in no condition to stop her. If she was going to leave it would have to be now.   
  
She turned towards the now empty door and exited into the hallway, her fist raised to smash in the control panel to Spike's cell when the sound of tsk-tsking from behind her penetrated her adrenaline fogged mind. She turned slowly, defeat shadowing her eyes as she recognized the figure of Spike held between five commando's, more than one stake, aimed directly at his heart. She cursed the chip in his head silently, despair filling her as she realized that they was no way she could leave without him, not knowing what she knew about this place, and not feeling what she felt.   
  
MacGruder stepped before her, a smug smirk on his hardened lips, "You continue with this rebellion and you forfeit your companion's life. Comply … and we'll consider his survival."   
  
Buffy lowered her palm, her gaze hard as she met MacGruder's, "What do you want?" Behind her she heard Spike gasp, cursing her and calling out all kinds of names and entreaties for her to go and forget about him; he could take care of himself. Buffy locked him out, focusing only on the war hardened visage before her.   
  
He smiled, his yellowed teeth, glinting faintly in the bright lighting of the corridor, "You, Miss Summers."   
  
'Bright and early for their daily races   
  
Going nowhere, going nowhere' 


	23. The Machinery of the Initiative

'And the tears are filling up their glasses   
  
No expression, no expression'   
  
Riley slammed into the office of the general, his farm-boy eyes blazing, his face taught and mottled with his anger. "Why," he began without preamble, his voice menacing as he advanced towards the composed figure of the General, "Why are you doing this? Why isn't she dead?"   
  
"Surely," MacGruder began, his voice the epitome of calm reason as he surveyed the soldier before him, "you can see how great an asset she could be to us, to our Cause."   
  
"To hell with the Cause," Riley shouted, his large meaty hand coming to rest on the General's desk. His voice dropped to a whisper as he regarded the man before him, the man he had thought he could trust, "You promised me her death."   
  
MacGruder regarded the young man before him coolly, his impassive demeanor concealing everything from the boy before him, "I promised only that there would be revenge."   
  
Riley stilled, his eyes dulling as his mouth thinned, "This is not what I meant when I said I wanted revenge. You're playing right into her hands --"   
  
"For God's sakes, Finn!" MacGruder brought his hand down hard on the desk, sending paper's flying as he stood, "The girl's locked in a glass cell! She's be intoxicated, experimented on, coerced!" He stopped, taking a deep breath, his steely eyes locking with Riley's, the vein in his forehead throbbing uncontrollably, "It is not your place to question orders. Your job is follow them, boy. Do you understand me?"   
  
Riley straightened and gave a quick jerk of his head, "I understand you, sir."   
  
"Good," MacGruder settled back comfortably into his hair, "Now get the hell out of my office."   
  
* * *   
  
The soldier peered curiously into the cell, unconsciously he hefted his gun onto his shoulder as he studied the scene before him. The blonde girl, Buffy, he reminds himself, sat on the floor, her eyes closed as she drifted into a light sleep beneath the hot white lights. Behind her sat Hostile 17, his hand tracing the curve of her jaw protectively. His ice-grey eyes met his and the soldier swallowed, forcing back the nervousness that arose in him at the sight of those two orbs filled with so much hate and determination. What she saw in him he'd never know. Even now, despite the obvious genuine quality of their embrace, he was barely able to accept what was before him. The concept that vampires could treat anyone with the tenderness and protectiveness that Hostile 17 demonstrated was something his mind was desperate to eject.   
  
He knew he wasn't the only one affected by the sight of the two lovers; the other soldiers assigned to guard duty over the two had been studiously ignorant of them, their eyes passing over them as if they weren't really there. It was so much easier to ignore the quandary than to explore what the possible ramifications of such proof could be. He sighed and turned away from the two, the rifle, and his guilt, heavy upon his shoulder. There was no denying that what he was preparing to do was wrong, a violation of everything he had held dear in his life.   
  
The sound of boots trudging down the hall pulled him from the reverie. He sighed, pushing away his observations as he inclined his greeting to the guard who had come to claim the next watch and who had unwittingly given him more time to ponder his course of action.   
  
* * *   
  
Buffy sighed, her eyes fluttering open unwillingly as the over bright light engulfed her. She sighed, shifting against Spike's body as she snuggled deeper into the comforting holds of his embrace, his arms tightening reflexively around her as he slept on. All around them the compound was quiet; few soldiers were required to maintain the secure cells during the early morning hours. No real resistance was expected from any of the prisoners, themselves included. Buffy frowned, pushing the thoughts from her as she felt the familiar feeling of panic begin to overtake her; now was not the time to lose her head, for their sake she had to find a way out of here.   
  
Despite her lingering exhaustion she found herself unable to drift back not the uncomfortable sleep that had greeted her sometime following the confrontation with MacGruder. He had left her with the warning that he would be requesting her presence later to continue their "discussion" on her assistance to the Initiative. His emphasis on her willing cooperation baffled her. It was obvious that the Initiative could force anything out of her while she was trapped within the compound. Here, she could expect no assistance from anyone or anything; whatever the Initiative wanted could be theirs within a few hours and then she and Spike easily expended. All in all, MacGruder's obvious desire to have her willing acquiescence to the experiments they planned had her more than a little worried.   
  
Carefully Buffy extracted herself from the protective circle of Spike's arms and ran a disgruntled hand through her hair which, through the grace of some miraculous deity, hadn't become irrevocably tangled during the night. A toothbrush however, she thought wryly, would be more than convenient. All around her she could hear the subtle sound of the machinery of the Initiative waking for the day; the omnipresent electrical humming intensified as the echo of more and more footsteps filled the corridors around her. She tensed, trepidation gripping her as she thought of her impending meeting with MacGruder.   
  
There was nothing for it -- she would have to follow along with his game and see where it would take them.   
  
'Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow   
  
No tomorrow, no tomorrow'   
  
Riley's eyes were bloodshot when he entered the common area of the Initiative. His face was more haggard than it had been in days, a cruel shadow covering his face and meshing with the five o'clock shadow that covered his chin. His blue eyes that had once shown with pride and the reflection of the wide corn silk blue skies of Iowa were dulled and listless in the harsh lighting. He was a lost man and he knew it. The others seemed to sense his inanition and avoided his more assiduously than they had since his return; none wanted to tangle with him with the memories of his squadron's ate and the training sessions still fresh in their minds.   
  
Riley shrugged off their disregard, outwardly showing every sign of eschewing the others company as dearly as they did his. Despite his best efforts however his alienation slipped passed his carefully controlled mask. His loneliness served only to embitter him further, exacerbating the cancer that spread within him, devouring everything that he had once been. He clung to his hatred like a drowning man, inventing ways to place the blame for his current predicament squarely on the shoulders of his ex and lover.   
  
He caught a brief glance of himself in the mirror in the locker room as he slipped into his light training closed. For a moment he was taken back by his haggard, menacing appearance; there was no trace of the jocund youth he'd been left and he was damned if he was going to let that blonde bitch get away with it. MacGruder or no MacGruder. 


	24. The Only Thing

'And I find it kind of funny   
  
I find it kind of sad   
  
The dreams in which I'm dying   
  
Are the best I've ever had'   
  
They left her waiting for him in his office for a good half an hour before announcing his arrival. The General seemed infinitely more self-assured than he had in the cell the day before. A smug smile spread across his face as he eyed her, noting her recalcitrant posture as well as the quick gleam of defiance that sparked through her eyes. At the sound of his footsteps she straightened, her chin jutting forward proudly as her eyes narrowed. He nodded at her silent greeting, the smile fading from his face as he moved around to the other side of his desk, "Ah, Miss Summers. I trust you slept well?   
  
Buffy let out an unladylike snort, her arms crossing as she watched MacGruder lean back carelessly in his seat. His eyes rested on her thoughtfully, his stony visage revealing nothing as he contemplated her. Buffy repressed the urge to fidget beneath his regard, her clear gaze meeting his confidently, "You could have observed me just as well from the cell."   
  
MacGruder shrugged at her comment, "As pleasing as you are to look at Miss Summers, that's not why I called you in here. There are some matters we need to discuss."   
  
Buffy leaned back in the uncomfortable wooden chair, suspicion passing through her hazel eyes, "Going through a lot of trouble for conversation. You should get out of here more, meet some people of your own age," she made a face at the fluorescent lighting, "Not to mention that the lighting does nothing for a person's complexion."   
  
His mouth thinned, "Finn did warn me that you were annoying." A pregnant pause filled the space once again as he flipped through the manila folder which sat squarely in the middle of his desk, "Among other things." He tossed the folder at her and she grabbed it, the wariness in her face tightening as she opened the folder. Her eyes widened as she recognized images of her and Spike in more than one compromising situation. A deep blush, due more to anger than shame, spread across her face, shoulders and neck and she slammed the folder shut quickly, "What do you want?"   
  
"I'm here to make you an offer," MacGruder leaned forward his stone mask dropped, "The lives of your friends in exchange for yours."   
  
Spike watched from beneath lowered lids as the young soldier observed him sleeping. It wasn't the first time that Spike had caught him watching him in the past forty-eight hours. It wasn't so much the observation that bothered him, once his relationship with the Slayer had been known many of the soldiers had come to gaze at the unsuited couple in shock, but the underlying sense that this particular soldier was looking for something more than a good time at the peep-show was unnerving.   
  
Slowly, Spike opened his eyes halfway, allowing them to glint menacingly beneath the lighting, "It's not exactly necessary for you to be quite so bloody sedulous in your guard duties. It's not as if I can do much with this bloody chip in my head and the Slayer gone." The soldier's eyes widened and he took a step back before turning around and staring studiously at an unseen spot on the white wall.   
  
Spike pushed himself halfway up onto his elbows, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The soldier, though aware of his regard, studiously ignored him. His smile grew wider as he sensed the soldier's unease growing, "Say, mate, don't suppose you could spare a smoke?"   
  
The soldier stiffened before throwing him a carefully neutral glance, "There's no smoking allowed in the compound."   
  
"Pity that," Spike's smile faded as he gracefully pushed himself up from the floor, "I'll just have to end my sojourn a bit earlier than expected, then."   
  
The soldier stiffened and loosened his rifle, hanging it off of one shoulder as he eyed the vampire warily. His temerity shocked the soldier who had expected him to remain more quiescent after the other day's defeat. Instead, Hostile 17 gazed at him with ill-concealed belligerence, a cocky smirk on his mouth as he looped his hands in his belt and sauntered forwards toward the door. Despite the fear that gripped him, he managed to stand his ground as the vampire came as close to him as the door would allow. His heart beat wildly in his chest and at close range the chip seemed like poor protection.   
  
As if he had read his mind, Spike's grin grew increasingly mordant, "How'd you like to help a fellow out?"   
  
For one second fear gripped her as the General's words registered in her head, but the feeling was transient and quickly replaced by her anger, "You haven't got my friends."   
  
"No," MacGruder accounted calmly, refusing to move back to his side of the desk despite the aura of violence that surrounded the Slayer, "But I have your lover."   
  
Buffy barely managed to suppress a growl, her hazel eyes darkening ominously as she leaned closer to him, "You can't keep us here forever, someone is bound to notice."   
  
He shrugged callously, "I could always kill you both and put an end to any speculation."   
  
She stiffened, her hands tightening as she prepared to spring forward if he made any move towards her, "You could try."   
  
MacGruder leaned back in his chair, smiling his noisome smile, "Even if you were to kill me Miss Summers, it is unlikely that you would make it to your lover before we had him terminated. Besides," his smile deepened, "like you Miss Summers, there will always be another, and another, and another to come take my place."   
  
"You and I are nothing alike," Buffy stood, "what you are doing here is cruel! You're no better than the monsters you hunt."   
  
"Spare me, Buffy," MacGruder's smile had vanished as he stared up at the petite figure, "You're not so different from the creatures you slay, either. You're just the different side of the same coin."   
  
"You're wrong," she said woodenly, "I have a soul."   
  
"Finally," his smile returned as he leaned forward, "we reach the topic I've brought you here to discuss."   
  
Buffy frowned, confusion marring her face, "My soul? So what, the Vatican's employing you now to monitor the spiritual welfare of Sunnydale?"   
  
"Not quite, Summers," MacGruder retrieved another manila envelope from his desk rawer and slid it forward on the desk, "Your genetic report. Needless to say you did not go quite completely undisturbed when you first arrived here. We weren't sure when we would have you cooperative again and it seemed pointless to pass up such a golden opportunity."   
  
Buffy flipped open the folder, her eyes scanning the pages of computer readouts, "I hate science."   
  
MacGruder smiled, "The scientific and the supernatural rarely accommodate each other, Miss Summers."   
  
Buffy looked up from the folder, "So what, vampires would flunk chemistry also?"   
  
He chuckled, "No, Miss Summers, what I mean is that what you're holding in your hand is the scientific proof of a genetic link between Slayer's and demons."   
  
The soldier eyed him quietly, his brown gaze assessing the vampire carefully. Spike held his breath, sensing that whatever the soldier concluded about him would influence not only his fate but the fate of Buffy as well. Finally, the soldier's gaze lost it's intensity and he turned away from the vampire and back towards the blank white wall. Spike felt a swell of regret overtake him and was about to call the soldier back to him when the soldier's voice, low-itched and unsteady reached his ears, "How can you love her?"   
  
Spike shrugged and leaned back against the white wall, "How does anybody love anyone, mate? There's no logical explanation for it; no hows and whys for you military, scientific types to analyze and break down into a chemical diagram or war plan. I love her in the same way any man loves a woman: completely and illogically."   
  
The soldier turned back t him, confusion tearing across his face, his weapon lowered, "But you don't have a soul, you can't feel."   
  
Spike snorted and pushed harshly away from the wall, "Rubbish. That's only a bedtime story they tell you to make you're job easer, so it's not people you're killing but demons, animals who are nothing like you. The truth, mate, is that we're a lot more alike than you'd like to think. The only difference is that we eat you." 


End file.
